The Elements of Chaos
by Fantasy's Magic
Summary: BU#2: When Stiles and Scott are lured into the Colorado mountains, they find that a great evil has been waiting for them. Unwittingly releasing the nightmare from its cage, the boys soon find themselves in a race to save not only themselves, but those they love and everyone in Beacon Hills.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A huge thank-you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter of the Blessed Unknown - you guys are fantastic! Thank-you also to everyone who has favourited and followed this series - your support is so very much appreciated! I really hope you guys like this next installment of the series. And buckle-up! This is going to be a bit of a long one :)

* * *

They were making their way through the trees on the south side of Beacon Hills, searching for the source of a disturbance that had been frightening people for nearly three weeks now. The Sheriff's office had received numerous calls pertaining to the unidentified creature, which seemed only to come out at night and had a tendency to hide beneath people's windows or underneath their cars, leaving behind deep claw marks and torn lawn in its wake. It was believed to be some sort of animal, as it could often be heard growling and snarling outside the person's house, leaving them scared and on edge. So the Sheriff had sent patrols to drive along the streets after dark, keeping their lights low and their eyes open, looking for any stray animal that could be the culprit.

That had been a week ago. Since then, many reports continued to stream in regarding the frightful creature, but not one person in the Sheriff's department could figure out what it was, leaving the Sheriff in a state of both worry and confusion.

Now Stiles had never been one to keep his nose out of his father's business, never giving his father a moment's peace since almost the moment he'd been born. John had long since come to accept that, no matter how much he talked to Stiles, no matter how much he got angry or threatened to lock him up for the rest of his life – his son would always be sticking his nose where it didn't belong, would always be listening to conversations he wasn't supposed to hear, and he would always – always – be one step away from trouble. Which was why they – Stiles, Scott, and the pack – were where they were now: crouched low, walking through the trees, keeping their eyes, ears, and noses open for any sign of animal or creature that was not supposed to be there.

Life had been relatively quiet since Alicia Givens – their substitute-teacher-turned-psycho-witch – had been killed six months ago, her body burned to ensure that she would never return again (again). Lydia and Kira had been hurt the most in that fight, their necks left bruised and sore from where they had been hung by ropes, and their heads both receiving painful injuries from hitting the forest floor. They ended up sharing a hospital room and were both discharged at nearly the same time, receiving clean bills of health with the instructions to not go falling off of cliffs anymore.

Malia and Liam had both broken bones, but aside from being stuck in annoying, itchy casts, both of them were released the same day they arrived. Scott and Stiles had never even been admitted to the hospital, receiving whatever care they need from Scott's mom.

In almost everyone's eyes, the fight had been a dangerous – but ultimately great – success. They'd fought the witch who had been trying to kill them, having never fought a witch before, and they'd won. Scott had killed her – shoving his hand through her body once more before quickly setting her alight, giving her no time to recover or run away. It had been a triumphant victory.

At least, that's what everyone believed.

Or rather, that's what everyone had been told.

Only three people knew the truth about what happened that day; only three people knew how the witch really died and who it was that had really killed her. And if it were up to Stiles, he would have it remain three people for as long as he could.

Stiles had left that fight completely drained and exhausted; it had taken him over a week before he had the strength to even walk across the house. His dad had questioned him, had interrogated him with all the techniques that a Sheriff had, but Stiles never let slip anything more than what he and Scott had already told Melissa and the Pack. Stiles insisted that his injuries and exhaustion came from getting caught in the crossfire with the witch and Scott, and that he'd never actually been in any real danger. It was a lie – a big lie – but Stiles simply could not bring himself to tell his father the truth; no matter how much he hated having another secret to once again keep.

Stiles could tell his father was suspicious, that he wondered if there was more to the story than what he'd been told, but in the end his dad had no reason to suspect what actually happened; he had no reason to suspect the truth.

So Stiles got better – they all got better, and most everything went back to normal.

Except, of course, that Stiles now had other things to do after school than get into trouble with Scott and the pack.

Stiles tapped his fingers restlessly against his leg as he and the pack walked through the woods just outside the town, trying to scan the dark forest as best as he could, looking for any movement that he could find. Lydia and Malia led the Pack at the front, Lydia waving her flashlight around as Malia kept her nose to the air, searching for any wayward scent in the wind. Liam walked behind them, his body tensed and his senses on high alert. He'd been jumpy all afternoon and into the evening, the reports of the animal putting him on edge. Scott had tried to tell him that the animal was just an animal and Liam was a werewolf, and while Liam did seem to accept that argument, he was still looking ready to attack anything at a moment's notice – even if it was just a leaf blowing in the wind.

As they walked, Stiles felt a pull deep within his sternum, a gentle brush against the back of his mind. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath of air that suddenly felt more rich and pure than it had moments before. When he opened his eyes he could see the edges of the trees starting to lean towards him and he quickly willed them back, glancing around to make sure no one had seen. Seeing that no one was looking at him, Stiles sighed with quiet relief and continued to walk, though this time his senses reached far beyond just his eyes and his ears.

As he had practiced more and more with the element of the Earth, the more and more it had begun to respond to him, had begun to grow in him; almost as if it were a living thing itself – sensing and reacting to him whenever he was near. It rejuvenated and refreshed him, and – as Stiles had discovered in recent months – it even enabled him to feel everything around him; every tree, every leaf, every branch. It was like having a sixth sense – one that allowed you to feel all the earth that was around you and everything that moved on or within it in-between.

He'd told Scott of this new _talent_ but it had yet to come into any real use, so neither of them knew just how far it could be pushed. Stiles had tried to determine its limits before – Scott had fallen asleep once at the clearing with the pond while Stiles did some sort of yoga pose and concentrated; when he woke, Stiles was still in the exact same position Scott had left him in. Only – Scott quickly realised – Stiles hadn't exactly managed to remain concentrating, so much as he had been able to master the art of falling asleep while sitting up. Needless to say, Stiles hadn't tried to test his new power too often after that.

Along with the Earth, Stiles had also been able to gain further control over the element of Air. Whereas it had once been difficult to even knock over or move a jar, he could now levitate almost anything with relative ease. He'd even managed to lift his own jeep into the air (though that had been a bit more difficult), but after his control had slipped and the jeep fell to the ground, knocking out its suspension, Stiles had been a bit more careful about lifting heavy – or precious – objects.

It was only in the past month that he had tried his hand at controlling the weather, the incident at the school back when Givens had been alive having frightened him more than he liked to admit. He'd been able to strengthen the wind and move the clouds in any direction he wanted – that had been a fun discovery – and he'd even been able to make it rain once by changing the air pressure in the clouds, but he had to admit – control of the weather was not on the top of his "to-do" list.

 _But,_ Stiles thought as they came to a stop amongst the trees, _there were always plenty of other things to learn._

Coming to a halt, Lydia shone her flashlight around, her eyes narrowing. "I thought I saw something," she said, pointing the light a the base of a nearby tree.

Malia stepped forward, sniffing loudly. After a moment she shook her head. "I don't smell anything but us and the trees. Why did we come out here at night, again?"

"Because the Sheriff needs help finding this creature," Lydia replied. She gave Malia a pointed look. "And it only comes out at night, so what better time to try and find it than… _at night?_ "

Malia rolled her eyes and huffed, stepping forward and taking the lead. "Well it's not here, so let's just keep going."

"Why don't we split up?" Scott asked, piping up for the first time that night. Ever since Kira had moved away to study her lineage as a kitsune, Scott had been in a depressed slump, always having to drag himself out of bed and only managing to do only the bare essentials – sometimes not even that, much to Stiles' chagrin – before making his way to school, just going through the motions before returning home and going straight back to bed. Stiles had done his best to carry out the Best-Friend-Duties that were required of him in a time like this – going over to Scott's house every day, making sure he was fed and watered, trying to make him at least look and smell somewhat presentable – but more than anything, Scott's recovery had simply taken time. It had been a month and a half now since Kira had left and this – Stiles was happy to report – was now the fifth time Scott had been out with the group all at the same time. It was a happy and positive step in the right direction – for Stiles, anyway.

Stiles' powers had actually come in pretty handy during the first month of what he now called Despair and Misery; he had been able to use the air to push Scott around nearly everywhere he wanted him to go, and Stiles didn't even have to get up from his seat. When Melissa wasn't around he would levitate food and water towards the couch (and use it to bring him the remote, which was just about the best thing ever) and if Scott wasn't paying enough attention, he'd create a small bubble of pressure and poke Scott in the head. Scott would reprimand Stiles, telling him that using his powers like this was only helping to make him more lazy and, if Scott could be so blunt, a pain in the ass. Stiles replied that he was simply being resourceful.

So now to hear Scott actually speak up of his own accord and offer his own suggestions was a major step forward, and Stiles hoped that maybe – just maybe – life could go back to normal again.

"What?!" Liam said loudly, ignoring Lydia and Scott's glares at the noise and startling Stiles out of his thoughts. "You want us to split up? Why do you want us to split up?!"

"In order to find the animal, you idiot," Malia replied. "Otherwise we're being just one, big, massive disturbance and if the animal _is_ here somewhere, it'll run away long before we even get near it. It'll be fine – I'll even go with you, you big scaredy-cat."

Liam narrowed his eyes. "I'm not a scaredy-cat, Malia, I –."

"Shh!" Lydia suddenly said, motioning for everyone to be quiet. The group went silent as everyone's senses went on high alert, listening for any sign of movement nearby.

Stiles cast his senses out into the clearing and the trees, feeling for any movement in the grass or any breaking of leaves or twigs. After a few moments it became clear that there was nothing nearby out of the ordinary and Stiles let out a sigh, waiting for the others to finish their own search.

The minutes ticked by and Stiles began to grow bored. His gaze landed on Liam, who, though putting on a brilliant face of courage and resilience, was clearly on edge. Stiles stared at him for a moment, before a small smile began tugging at his lips and he looked up to the tree that stood over above them. Focusing on the closest branch, Stiles brought the branch lower, moving it ever-so-slightly, inching it closer and closer towards Liam, until –

"AAHH!"

Everyone jumped at the sudden noise, some cursing from being startled and others quickly spinning around, their faces set in surprise, which quickly turned into angry glares. Liam jumped the highest of all, spinning around in circles, reaching around and slapping his back as he searched frantically for whatever it was that had touched him. Scott huffed in annoyance while Stiles desperately fought back his laughter.

"Liam!" Scott reprimanded, frowning at the younger wolf. "What the heck are you doing? You can't get scared at the smallest thing that touches you. For goodness' sake, you're a werewolf, remember? Start acting like one!"

"I know, I know – but Scott, something touched my back, it was –."

"Liam, look around you! There are branches everywhere! You probably just ran into one; don't freak out about it."

The girls gave Liam looks of annoyance before finally turning back around and once more began leading the group through the trees.

Stiles watched Liam as they walked, biting back the grin that was trying to break across his face. Liam's head snapped back and forth, looking around numerous times before he finally settled down enough to keep walking through the trees. His calm composure from before was now clearly compromised, however, and it was obvious that he couldn't wait for the excursion to end.

A few minutes passed before Lydia brought them to a halt once more, raising her hand and motioning for them to stop. Stiles had to admit – she'd probably make a pretty bad-ass soldier. Or rather, commander – because, as everyone knew (and as Stiles had learned himself, on more than one occasion), no one told Lydia Martin what to do.

Stiles latched onto the earth and searched for any movement once more, but once again found nothing nearby. While he waited for everyone to come to the same conclusion, his eyes once more fell to Liam. He took hold of another branch, this one with more leaves on it, and slowly brought it down, hovering just above the nape of Liam's neck before brushing against his skin and snaking its way down the back of his shirt.

Once again Liam jumped, shouting a high-pitched scream that they couldn't believe belonged to a werewolf, turning around in circles as he grabbed at his back, searching for a branch that was now sitting innocently high above him. Lydia growled and Malia swore, but neither said a word, waiting for Liam to be quiet so they could keep looking through the trees. Just as Liam had started to calm down, Stiles brought the branch down once more. He was just about to brush it against Liam's hair when he suddenly felt an elbow jam into his side. The branch snapped back up into place and Stiles turned to see Scott giving him a very annoyed look, one that said both _really?_ and, _I am not amused._ Stiles just gave him an unabashed smile in return.

"Stiles," Scott whispered, "seriously – cut it out."

"What?" Stiles whispered back. "I'm not doing anything –."

"Boys!" Lydia reprimanded, turning back and shooting them a glare. "Shush!"

"Hey now, Lydia," Stiles said. "We've been out here for a while now and there's no sign of the animal. Why don't we just –." Stiles broke off, suddenly going completely still. Lydia had already turned around, but Scott saw the sudden change in Stiles' demeanor and he immediately tensed, raising his senses as his eyes began scanning the trees.

Stiles stared through the darkness, searching for the sensation that had just touched the back of his mind. It didn't feel like something he'd ever sensed before; it felt different, somehow. It's feet touched the earth with barely a mark, pressing against the soil and brush but somehow not breaking it. It moved slowly and quietly, but with every passing second it drew nearer, coming closer and closer towards them.

Stiles shot Scott a glance, before discreetly motioning towards the trees. Scott nodded once before turning to the group. "Let's split up," he said. "Stiles and I will go to the left, you guys go to the right. Okay?" He gave them no time to respond before turning and disappearing into the trees, following closely after Stiles. He could hear Lydia and Malia's angry whispers at the sudden change in plans with no consultation, but Scott ignored them and placed his attention entirely on what was going on in front of him.

"Stiles," he said, trying to follow after his friend as quickly as he could. The trees moved their branches and roots out of the way as Stiles walked, something Scott had been noticing they did whenever Stiles was focused or not paying attention. When Stiles didn't answer, Scott tried again: "Stiles! Stiles, what –."

Stiles suddenly halted and Scott, too busy watching his feet, bumped into him from behind. He was about to ask again what was going on, when suddenly a foreign scent drifted past his nose and something rustled in the bush a few feet away. Before Scott could say a word, Stiles was gone, taking off towards what – Scott could only assume – was the animal.

Stiles ran forward through the trees, following the presence of the animal until it was almost right in front of him. Before he could raise his hand and capture it with the air, the creature suddenly sprung forward and crashed into Stiles' chest. Stiles shouted in surprise, stumbling back as he fought off the unexpected attack of a face full of fur.

The creature pawed and scratched at him, squealing and screeching and making terrible noises as it did. Stiles quickly regathered his wits and tried pushing the small creature off of him, but it stubbornly hung on tight, its long claws tearing into Stiles' shirt and refusing to let go. Stiles didn't have to endure the attack for long, however, as a second later Scott was beside him and grabbing the thing in his claws, throwing it off to the side.

Moments later the rest of the pack arrived, their flashlights shining through the darkness and dousing the clearing in light. Malia's flashlight landed on a small bundle of fur on the ground nearby and Liam shot past her, pouncing on the animal and holding it tightly in his hands.

"Stiles!" Lydia shouted, running towards him and Scott. "Stiles, are you okay?"

Stiles groaned as he got back to his feet, patting at his chest and torn shirt. Determining that there was no irreparable damage, he nodded. "I'm fine," he said, giving Lydia a smile before looking towards Liam, who was growling as he fought to subdue the creature, which, upon closer inspection, could now be seen as….

"A racoon," Malia deadpanned, staring at the small black and white rodent. Her eyes slowly narrowed as her brows furrowed together in a dark frown. "It's a racoon," she said again, her voice slightly lower than before. She looked up at the rest of the pack. "The thing that was terrifying the people in town, the creature that was scratching and growling at people's windows and cars, the creature we've spent the last two hours looking for… was a _racoon_."

"It would seem so," Scott replied.

"I'd say that it's cute," Lydia said, shining her light directly on the animal as it squirmed in Liam's hold, "but this thing just led us around the forest for the past two hours and made me get my favourite shoes covered in mud. Plus, it's been terrorizing the town for the past three weeks, so whether it's cute or not, it has to go."

"Hey wait," Malia interjected. "How do we know this is even the same animal? It might be just a regular racoon for all we kno –."

The racoon suddenly let out a high-pitched screech that quickly turned into a mixture of growls and snarls, angrily twisting every-which-way as it struggled to get itself free. Its claws were about three-times the size of a normal racoon's, as evidenced by Stiles' scratched up arms and torn shirt.

"I think this is it," Scott said firmly.

"What should we do with it?" Malia asked.

"We'll tell the Sheriff, then take it to Deaton. He'll be able to look at it, see if anything about it is off –."

"Um, hey guys?"

Everyone looked down at Liam, who was trying to keep the struggling animal's claws away from his face. He looked up at them expectantly. "A little help here?"

Scott quickly took off his jacket and crouched down beside Liam, gently covering the small creature and wrapping it in a bundle before taking it into his arms. "Okay then," he said, standing back up. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

They left the animal in a cage in Deaton's clinic for him to take care of the next morning and Stiles called his dad to let him know that – what they believed to be the perpetrator of the town's nightly terrors – had been caught. The girls and Liam said their goodnights, each getting into their own vehicles to leave. Scott and Stiles waved goodbye as they all disappeared down the road until they were the only ones left in the parking lot, standing beneath the glow of the bright street lights.

They made their way to Stiles' jeep and climbed into the vehicle, shutting the doors behind them. Stiles started the engine and soon they were on their way to Scott's house. Ten minutes later they were in his driveway and Scott bid Stiles goodnight, telling him he'd be over in the morning.

When Stiles finally pulled up into his own driveway beside his father's cruiser it was well-past midnight, and he was more than ready to get to sleep. He made his way into the house and walked up the steps to his room, flicking on the light and closing the door behind him. He sighed, his shoulders dropping as he ran his hands through his hair, fighting the urge to just fall asleep where he stood; after a moment he began to undress and get ready for bed. He took off his shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it into the corner. He threw on a pair of pajama bottoms and an old cotton top before finally crawling into bed. It took him a moment to get comfortable – futon beds did have their downsides – but soon he was pulling up the covers and turning on his side with a quiet sigh.

It had been a week and a half after the final fight with Givens when his father had said he'd had enough, and told Stiles that he refused to let his son keep sleeping on the floor any longer. Stiles tried to protest, tried to tell him that it was okay, but his dad wouldn't listen. It wasn't long before he managed to get the truth out of Stiles to reveal exactly why it was that he could no longer sleep on a mattress.

His dad hadn't said a thing throughout the whole time he spoke, but if his expression was anything to go by, he was barely holding in the fury at hearing what it was the witch had done to his son. When he finished, Stiles tried to slough it off, saying that it was over now, that it was no big deal; except, maybe, for the fact that he could barely sit on a bed, much less lie on one, without feeling the beginnings of a panic attack rise in his throat. John had given him a big hug after that and without any further discussion, told Stiles that they'd figure something out.

The next day, after Stiles arrived home from school, he found his old mattress and box spring in the dumpster, and when he got to his room he saw that a brand new futon bed was sitting in its stead. He couldn't stop the smile that had touched his face at that point, though it was tinged with both guilt and embarrassment. His dad told him later that evening that he was in no way to feel guilty about this and that if getting a new mattress would help his son in even the smallest way with all that had happened to him, then he would gladly do it a thousand times over. He'd added that the bed would be his and he would be free to take it with him when he went to university. Stiles tried to object, citing that money was tight and John couldn't just spend and throw it away like that. His dad replied by saying that, whatever money he spent on his son, would never be thrown away.

That statement was followed by a blush from Stiles and a gooey father-son hug, but when it was all said and done, Stiles had to admit – it was sure going to be nice not to have to sleep on the floor anymore.

With another sigh, Stiles turned back around on the bed, before looking up at the light and realising that it was still on. He started to get up, but then paused. After a few moments he lifted his hand, pointed his finger towards the wall, and flicked it down. The light-switch by the door clicked off and the lights above him went dark. Stiles fought back a smile as he leaned back down into his pillows.

He had to admit – these powers sure did have their uses.

* * *

 _Bzzz._

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _Bzzz._

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _Bz –_

Stiles shot his hand out of the blankets and grabbed his phone, fumbling at it with his fingers before finally managing to hit the button. He groaned again at the light that stabbed into his eyes and it was another few moments before he was able to squint and properly see who it was that was trying to contact him.

A picture of Scott's smiling face peered up at him, a number of messages displayed underneath. The most recent one was sent three minutes ago, with the simple words of: _'dude – wake up!'_ followed by a smiley face.

Stiles looked to the top of the screen and read the time: _7:25am_. His squint immediately turned into a glare and he tossed the phone to the side with a growl, grabbing the covers and pulling them over his head, as he turned and buried himself beneath them once more.

Only a few minutes of silence passed before the phone started to vibrate again, only this time it didn't stop, which meant that someone – Scott, that early-morning bastard – was calling him.

Stiles finally resurfaced from the blanket-cocoon and grabbed the phone, swiping it open and pressing it to his ear. "Scott, so help me, I am going to ki –."

 _"_ _Stiles!"_ Scott's happy voice greeted him with a shout.

Stiles flinched and turned the phone slightly away. "Scott, I swear on all that is holy, if you say anything else with even a _remote_ sense of happiness, I'm going punch you in the face."

 _"_ _Aw, come on Stiles – it's not that bad."_

"Dude, it's seven-thirty in the morning!"

 _"_ _And?"_

Stiles growled, shifting until his back was leaning against the pillows. "What do you mean, 'and'?! What the hell are you doing up so early? It's Saturday, Scott… it's _Saturday_."

 _"_ _You can't sleep your day away Stiles,"_ Scott replied evenly, ignoring the anger in Stiles' voice. _"Besides, you said you wanted to go out to the clearing today, remember?"_

Stiles groaned and pressed his palm against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to stave off the quickly-building headache. "Yes, Scott – I wanted to go today, but today doesn't mean before sunrise. Are you asking for me to hurt you?"

 _"_ _The sun is already up, man,"_ Scott stated happily, undeterred by Stiles' threats. _"Besides, we haven't gone to the woods all week. Don't you want time to… y'know, practice?"_

Stiles inwardly sighed before reaching over and turning on his lamp, accepting the fact that he was now officially up. He pushed the soft, warm, wonderful covers away from him – oh why was he letting Scott do this to him – and begrudgingly swung his legs over to the hard, cold floor. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up. "When the hell did you become such an early-morning riser?" he asked as he made his way to his feet and walked over to the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor the night before.

 _"_ _I don't know,"_ Scott replied, as though seriously contemplating the slightly-rhetorical question. _"I think it might have something to do with being a werewolf. Ever since I got the bite, I've never just needed that much sleep anymore, you know?"_

"You're like a dog," Stiles stated, picking up his jeans and giving them a sniff, trying to determine if it was still wearable or not. Finding them satisfactory, he tossed them to the floor behind him. "You're like a dog that wakes up at five in the morning and then jumps on the bed, barking and jumping and waking everyone up with him." He picked up a shirt next, one he hadn't seen in a while, and put it to his nose. He scrunched his face in distaste and quickly threw it off towards the – admittedly seldom used – laundry basket in the corner. "They lock up dogs like you," he continued, grabbing another shirt. "They put them in their own room and don't let them back out until it's a _normal time_ in the morning and everyone else is already awake; and if that doesn't work, they throw them outside and make them sleep in the cold."

Scott chuckled as Stiles continued to search for a less-than-terrible-smelling shirt. _"Are you saying you're going to throw me and out and force me to sleep outside?"_ he asked.

"If you ever do this again, you're damn right I will."

 _"_ _Aw, you're just grumpy in the morning. You always have been."_

"You're damn right I'm grumpy!" Stiles said, throwing another shirt into the laundry basket. "Because someone decided that they were going to wake me up at _seven-thirty_ on a SATURDAY. A Saturday, Scott! I wake up early every other day of the week, so why – why on this one day of freedom, would you take away my sleep? Huh? I swear, if you don't at least have coffee waiting for me when I get down, I'm going to –."

A sudden rapping noise startled Stiles out of his speech and he jumped, spinning around to the window, where a grinning Scott McCall hung from the other side, a large cup of coffee held up in his hand. Stiles narrowed his eyes darkly at his friend, but was unable to resist the fact that the drink sure looked very inviting. He made his way over to the window and, with a final glare at Scott, opened it up.

Scott crawled inside, quickly handing Stiles the coffee before saying a single word. Stiles took the cup, glared at Scott once more, before the smell wafting from the lid quickly filled the room and he closed his eyes with a sigh. He paused for only a moment, enjoying the smell of coffee first thing in the morning, before bringing it to his lips and taking a drink, swallowing with sigh. Scott had woken him up at this ungodly hour, yes – but damn, he sure knew how to make peace.

Bringing the cup back down, Stiles eyed Scott silently for a moment before setting the coffee on the dresser and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Okay," he said. "You've redeemed yourself. Now help me find a shirt that's at least somewhat clean."

Scott rolled his eyes and watched as Stiles proceeded to sift through a bunch of shirts on the floor, shaking his head as Stiles sniffed and quickly threw one away. "You know, finding a clean shirt might actually be easier if, you know – you actually cleaned them."

"Ah, you see – that's where you're mistaken. You see Scott, you live with your mom. And as a mom, a _female_ , do you know what she's taught you?"

Scott frowned, raising an eyebrow. "To know when to take a shower?"

Stiles stood up and gave him a look. "Ha ha, very funny. No, Scott. What you're mother taught you was to know when pick up after yourself and how to do your own load of laundry. I, having lived with my dad, have learned how to _avoid_ doing laundry for as long as possible. I have become an expert at the _Smell Test_."

Scott rolled his eyes, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Oh come on, Stiles – that's a lie and you know it."

And it _was_ a lie, for after his mom had died, Stiles had become the caretaker of the house – cleaning the dishes, making the food, sweeping the floor; he'd done his best to always help his dad in any way that he could – and that included doing the laundry.

"Yeah, well," Stiles replied, "it makes a good excuse."

"Or maybe you're just lazy.

"That too." He threw another shirt down and growled in frustration. "Okay, that's it." Stiles took another drink of his coffee and flicked his finger in the air, turning on the lights. He set the coffee down and raised both of his hands in front of him. Immediately, all of the shirts and stray pieces of clothing that had been laying on the floor shot into the air, and began spinning in a circle around them.

Scott watched in mild disbelief as Stiles tried to grab at a shirt that spun in front of him, grasping the fabric in his fingers and pulling it out of the makeshift-vortex and gave it a sniff. He subsequently frowned and tossed the shirt back in the air. Scott just shook his head. "Stiles, what are you –." Scott was cut off as a shirt suddenly smacked against his head, covering his entire face. He pawed at the shirt until he managed to pull it off, letting it fall back into vortex behind him. A growl of annoyance rumbled in his throat as another shirt smacked his neck, then his arms and his legs. He pulled them off one by one before finally turning his glare to Stiles. "Stiles!" he said loudly, trying to get his friend's attention. "Stiles, you're eighteen – what the heck are you doing –."

The clothes began to circle faster, the wind picking up and pushing Scott further into the circle and closer to Stiles. He watched as Stiles aimed to grab another shirt, but just as he managed to grasp the hem, it tore away and continued spinning round behind them. If possible, the wind grew even stronger, and the posters on Stiles' wall and the detective-board he kept by his dresser began to shake. Just as Scott was about to tell Stiles to stop, the coffee on the dresser began to rock, until the wind finally pushed it off and sent it tumbling towards the floor.

If Scott had thought Stiles wasn't paying any attention, he was wrong. Stiles' eye quickly caught the disaster about to happen and he quickly reached out his hand, stopping the coffee-cup in midair. The vortex of wind that had been growing ever greater around them abruptly died, any clothes that had still been in the air falling to the floor in a heap.

Stiles sighed in relief as he quickly walked over and grabbed the cup, gripping it tightly in his hands and closing his eyes as he brought it to his mouth. "Oh thank goodness," he said, taking a quick sip and bringing it back down. "That would have been a tragedy."

Scott shot Stiles a look of incredulity, before finally giving up and grabbing a shirt that had landed on the back of a chair. He shoved it towards Stiles. "You see," he said motioning to the clothes around them. "This is why you need to practice! This is why you need to get up at seven-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, because it's the only day when you can at least try to learn how _not_ to tear your room apart with a friggin' _cyclone!_ "

Stiles finished off his coffee before shooting Scott a glare. "I know why I need to practice, Scott," he said, taking the shirt from the other man, a sharp edge of annoyance seeping into an otherwise nonchalant tone. "You don't have to tell me that."

Stiles took a few steps away and gripped the bottom of his night-shirt, lifting it up and over his head. The morning light shone through the window, beating back the darkness and chasing away any remaining shadows in the room. As Scott waited for Stiles to finish dressing, his eyes drifted over Stiles' back, lingering over the numerous scars that littered his skin before landing on the large, now-healed gash that he'd received from his fight with Givens all those months ago. It wrapped around his side, touching his back and running down around his abs and towards the middle of his stomach. It was an ugly wound, the white flesh twisted and raised above his skin; it had already elicited more questions than Scott knew Stiles wanted to have when changing in the locker room at school, but Stiles had simply kept to the story of having got it when falling down the cliff, and after a while people no longer took any notice.

The scar disappeared as Stiles pulled on a shirt and Scott blinked. He turned his thoughts away from the past and watched as Stiles proceeded to finish buttoning up his shirt before turning back around to face Scott.

"You ready?" Stiles asked.

Scott nodded and the two of them made their way out of the room and down the stairs, grabbing a few snack-bars before making their way out of the house and into the jeep.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank-you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and faved this story - you guys are great!

* * *

Stiles had just been about to back out of the driveway when a pair of hands suddenly slapped themselves against the passenger window, causing both Scott and Stiles to jump in their seats.

Liam stood on the other side, a wide smile spread across his face. "Hey guys!"

Whatever feelings of happiness that Stiles had managed to obtain in the last half hour abruptly disappeared and he immediately began shaking his head. "No," he said, releasing the break.

The jeep began moving back again, but Liam ignored it and simply walked alongside it, his smile never leaving his face. "Are you guys going to that place with the pond?" he asked.

Stiles hit the break again before the vehicle could meet the road. "No," he said loudly. He turned to Scott, shooting him a glare. "I still can't believe you told him about that place. Now whenever he hears we're going out there, he wants to come along."

Scott opened his mouth, attempting to defend the younger wolf. "Stiles, you're jumping to conclusions. I'm sure he's just wanting to make sure he knows where we are –."

"Can I come with you?" Liam asked, his voice muffled from behind the window.

Stiles leveled a hard stare at Scott, before taking a deep and steadying breath.

The past six months had found him spending more time with Liam than he had ever wanted to have. What was worse, was that it wasn't because Liam was trying to hang out with Scott, his mentor and his alpha – it was because he wanted to hang out with _him_.

Now, Stiles didn't hate Liam – not at all. And in the past six months, he had to admit, Liam had actually become a little more tolerable than when they'd first gotten to know him. But if Scott was like a dog, then Liam was like a puppy. A rambunctious, high-energy, overly-excitable puppy. And one that – Stiles still couldn't fully comprehend why – now wanted to spend all his time with him; especially when he knew that Stiles would be using his powers.

Stiles wanted to enjoy the admiration he was receiving from the young wolf, he even could admit his appreciation for the newfound respect that he was being given – especially since the two had never really been on anything more than somewhat-amicable terms. But Stiles found that, while being looked up to was all well and good, he couldn't help but sometimes feel like a freak in a carnival show; that the only reason people wanted to be around him was to watch him perform, to put on an entertaining act for spectators to enjoy. Perhaps that was why, even after six months, he still wanted to keep his powers a secret, he was still reluctant to have anyone outside Scott and Liam know the truth. Because the moment he told them what he was, the moment he told them _who_ he was – that was the moment Human Stiles Stilinski died and from then on people would only see him as someone else – as _something_ else. And Stiles wasn't sure he was ready to deal with that. Not yet.

Liam tapped the window again, bringing Stiles out of his thoughts and back to the matter at hand. Stiles glanced at Scott and seeing his expression he sighed, turning back to face the house. "Fine," he said, putting the jeep into park. He could hear Liam's wide-smile a mile away and waited as Scott opened the door to let the younger wolf in.

Liam quickly scrambled to the back and turned around to face Stiles. "Thanks Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with excessive gratitude. "I promise, I won't get in the way, I won't even say a word. I –."

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles interrupted, putting the jeep back into reverse and finally getting onto the road. "And you can make good on that promise by starting now."

Liam immediately shut up and the jeep fell into silence. Stiles knew he was being rather unkind, but the headache that was slowly creeping up behind his temples made it difficult to care. He yawned, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as they drove. Maybe stopping to get one more cup of coffee wouldn't be a bad idea.

* * *

By the time they reached the clearing the sun was shining warmly across the trees and grass, shimmering against the green leaves and off the morning dew. Stiles once again wondered why he was here and not in bed, but remembering the event in the bedroom that morning, he had to admit that his powers still needed a lot of work.

Ever since Givens, Stiles' powers had relatively stayed the same; he'd gotten better at lifting things and using the air to push and pull stuff over; he'd even been able to consistently create a mini-cyclone whenever he wanted and the wind was now his best friend. But that was about all he could do. He'd had a bit more luck with the earth, now able to help plants grow in the ground, and move the branches and leaves of the trees whenever he wanted. Like with the tree that had fallen on Liam, Stiles was able to use the earth to lift anything it was related to – be it rocks, soil, branches, or the trees themselves. He was getting better and better every time he practiced with them, but aside from slowly perfecting what he already knew how to do, there really hadn't been any other progress.

The fire he had conjured after defeating the Witch seemed to have burned away along with her, as no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he focused or reached into himself – the fire simply would not come. It was discouraging, to say the least, but Stiles tried not to worry about it too much, and instead gave his attention entirely to the Earth and the Air. Hopefully, with time, the element of fire would simply return on its own.

At least, that's what he told himself.

"All right," Scott said, walking towards the middle of the clearing. He turned to Stiles, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "What do you want to try first?"

Ever since Givens' death, Scott had taken it upon himself to help Stiles learn everything he could about his powers – much like Stiles had done for him, back when Scott had first been turned; but he also knew that, for whatever reason, Scott felt as though it were his responsibility to help Stiles figure all of this out. Stiles had a feeling that what he'd said in the jeep after leaving Deaton's all those months ago had stayed with Scott; about how unlike him, he didn't have anyone to help him learn or adjust, he didn't have any precedent to look towards to help him understand who he was and what was happening to him. So now Scott made a constant effort to encourage Stiles to practice his gift, to test his limits, and to push his boundaries – to become stronger and find out just what it meant to be a _Blessed_. He had taken over the duties of Obi-Wan along with the role of Gandalf, because – as they both knew – the real Gandalf at the moment, could not be found.

Stiles had tried every night for months to contact Alayna, to somehow reach her and find out if she was okay. The memory of her screaming as blood ran down from her eyes and her ears was as fresh and terrifying as the day it had happened; and Stiles had no idea whether what had happened to her had been fatal, whether she had recovered, or if she was still being hurt. That she wouldn't respond to his calls worried him, but there was nothing he could do to make her reply. His only hope was that, like before, the portal simply needed time to re-energise and once that was done, Alayna would contact him and he'd finally know for sure that everything was okay.

"Stiles," Scott said loudly and Stiles blinked, emerging back from his thoughts.

Scott stared at him expectantly and Stiles ran a hand through his hair, looking around as he tried to decide what to do first. "Okay, okay," he mollified, eyes landing on a nearby tree. He made his way over to it and came to a stop, pausing as he bit his lip. After a moment he reached out his hand and pressed his palm against the edge of the bark, closing his eyes.

The earth responded to him almost immediately, its presence brushing against the back of his mind before finally seeping through his skin and into his body, amassing in the centre of his chest, just beneath his sternum. It pooled together like a warm breeze, rejuvenating and giving him a strength and energy that hadn't been there before. The senses he had gained back in the forest with the pack returned tenfold, and it felt as though he were connected to a million different things at once – knowing exactly where every tree stood, where every root lay, and where every leaf stirred in the wind. He could even feel the heat of the sun against the canopy above, its warmth becoming his warmth, and relaxing him in a way that could almost send him to sleep.

For a moment Stiles felt as though he could get lost in it; as though, if he allowed himself, he could just keep his eyes closed and stay in this cocoon of warmth and safety forever. But he'd done this before and he knew that he couldn't let himself become too far lost, lest Scott would once again be needed to "wake him up". So with great effort he opened his eyes and came back to the clearing.

He stared at his hand for a moment, which was covered in moss and vines, appearing very much as though it were a part of the tree itself – as though they were an extension of each other. Taking a breath, Stiles closed his eyes again, but this time he gathered his wits and focused exactly on what it was he wanted to do.

A few moments later the branches began to stir, and a few moments after that all the limbs of the nearby trees began to move, until it looked very much as though the entire forest had suddenly come to life.

Scott and Liam watched from where they stood in the clearing behind him, both unable to hide the slight awe they felt at seeing the display in front of them. Scott had seen Stiles do this before, but it never failed to instill within him a sense of wonder and astonishment; that it was his best friend doing it only made it all the more amazing. Liam, having seen Stiles do quite a few things with his powers – but never this – could only stare in stunned disbelief.

But moving the trees and making them dance was one thing, something that Stiles had already done many times before. Feeling Scott and Liam's feet pressing against the soil behind him, Stiles thought that maybe today it was time to have a little fun.

Turning around, Stiles glanced at Scott and motioned with his head for him to come over. Scott quickly made his way towards to him, his brows furrowed curiously together. "What is it?" he asked as he came up beside him.

Stiles made as though he were about to speak, before breaking off and looking towards Liam with a frown. "Hey Liam, mind heading over to the other side of the clearing? Scott and I need to have an adult conversation here and I don't need your werewolfy-hearing listening in, y'understand?"

Liam's face scrunched together in annoyance and he opened his mouth in what seemed like was going to be an angry retort, before he snapped his mouth shut instead and stalked over to the opposite end of the trees with a petulant growl.

Both older boys watched him before Scott turned to Stiles with a frown. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing," Stiles replied, keeping an eye on Liam as he crossed his arms and hunched in on himself, waiting impatiently for Stiles and Scott to finish whatever it was they had to talk about.

Scott glanced back and forth a few times in confusion, before his features relaxed in dawning realisation. "Stiles…" he said, his voice tinged with a hint of warning, but Stiles didn't listen.

"Just pretend you're talking to me," he responded. Scott let out a huff and turned his face away from Liam's view, knowing that at this point he really had no other choice but to wait for the shouts and yells that were soon to come. Stiles turned as well, and fighting off a smile he closed his eyes and began to concentrate.

He could feel Liam's feet against the ground and the heat of his body near the tree, and so bit by bit he began to focus on the branches and slowly began to pull them down. Liam was completely unaware as the vines and leaves began to extend, making their way to the ground before quietly wrapping themselves around his legs.

Both Scott and Stiles heard only a brief shout of exclamation before Liam's yells filled the clearing. They both turned to see the youngest member of their pack hanging upside down high in the trees, moving every which way as he struggled to figure out what was going. His eyes finally landed on Scott and Stiles – the former trying to fight back a smile, the latter not trying to fight it at all – and his eyes narrowed into a glare. "Stiles!" he shouted angrily, still swinging in the air. "Stiles, this isn't funny! Let me down!"

"Hey, you wanted to come with us," Stiles replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I bear no blame for happens when you make that choice."

"What are you talking about?!" Liam yelled with incredulity. "You're completely to blame! Now quit bullshitting me and let me down!"

Scott and Stiles walked across the clearing until they were beneath Liam and looking up at him. "I don't know," Stiles said, shaking his head. "You seem like you're enjoying yourself up there."

"Stiles!"

"Scott, what do you think?"

Scott said nothing and just shook his head as he turned away, unable to fight the smile that was pulling at his lips.

Stiles turned back to Liam, his face set in mock contemplation. "I think he said you should stay up there."

Liam huffed and tried to swing himself around to face Scott. "Scott!" he pleaded.

But Scott just shook his head. "No way man," he said, raising his hands. "I'm staying out of this."

"But Scott…!"

Stiles grinned and held out his hand, pointing his finger and poking it in the air. Liam felt a push against his stomach and he began rocking back and forth. He felt another push and the swings grew greater, until he felt like he was on the worst upside-down carnival ride he'd ever been on in his life.

Stiles continued to push Liam back and forth for another minute as he quietly laughed and Liam made loud shouts of protest, until finally Scott nudged him in the side with his elbow. "Let the kid go, Stiles. You've tort – ...you've _bugged_ him enough."

Though Stiles tried to hide it, the near slip-up of Scott's words casted an immediate effect and the grin on his face slowly faded away. With a sigh he brought the branches down, lowering Liam to the ground. Unexpectedly, one of the branches snapped – sending Liam falling the rest of the way to the ground below. Out of instinct Stiles reached out and gathered the air together, trying to grab the werewolf and slow his descent. He managed to catch him for only a moment before his hold broke and Liam fell the final few feet, landing with a _thump_.

Liam groaned and slowly made his way to his feet, while Stiles put his hands back down by his sides, ignoring Scott's questioning eyes he could feel were on him and the unspoken words that he could already hear: _this is why you need to practice._ And so for the rest of the morning, that was exactly what Stiles did.

It wasn't until later that evening that Stiles arrived back home, after having dropped off both Scott and Liam at each of their homes. His dad's cruiser was surprisingly parked in the driveway and Stiles drove up the pavement, stopping beside it. Putting the jeep into park, he turned off the ignition and everything fell into silence. He could see his dad through the window where he sat at the dining room table, pouring over a bunch of papers and documents. Stiles watched him in silence for a few minutes, trying but failing to push back the thoughts that were running through his mind. One in particular – a memory – whispered loudly in his ears.

 _"You need to accept this. If you don't accept the power that you have, you will never be able to use it. Not in the way that you need in order to defeat the Witch – and all those who will come after."_

And all those who will come after.

He'd griped and groaned when Scott had woken up him that morning; had complained that it was too early, that they didn't need to go. But they had. He did. He'd joked and pretended as though it were a game, as though his powers was just something fun to play with, but it wasn't. They weren't. And though he might protest and grumble when going to practice, the truth was that there wasn't anything more important right now that he needed to do than that; he needed to practice as much as he could, he needed to learn all he could find. Because if he didn't – if he didn't practice and gain control and get strong – then it would be those around him who would be the ones to pay for it. It would be his friends and his family – his father – that would pay the price of his negligence; that would pay the price of his weakness.

So he needed to work; he needed to get strong. Because as Alayna had said and as the Witch had implied, there were many creatures out there who knew who he was, who knew what he could do. And though they hadn't yet arrived, Stiles knew that at some point down the line – be it months or be it years – they would come. And when they did, he wanted to be ready for them; because if they were anything like the Witch, then they would need far more than just werewolves and banshees to fight them – and Stiles would be damned if he let anyone else fight his battles for him. If he was indeed the beacon of Beacon Hills, then he was going to make sure that if anything did arrive, it would not last for long.

* * *

"Hey, so were you planning on going to Lydia's party this weekend?"

Scott leaned against the locker doors as he waited for Stiles to finish thumbing in his code, his eyebrows raised questioningly as he waited for an answer.

Stiles frowned, finally pulling the lock and turning it open. He shoved his textbooks inside and proceeded to take out his math book, sticking a pencil between his teeth as he rummaged around in his bag for his calculator. He felt a nudge against his shoulder and he looked up to see Scott peering at him expectantly. Stiles grabbed the pencil and took it out of his mouth. "What?"

"I said, are you planning to go to Lydia's party this weekend? It'll be the pen… the penltum… penahl –."

"Penultimate," Stiles corrected absently, having gone back to looking for his calculator.

"Yeah, that one. It'll be the penultimate party of the year – the penultimate party of _senior_ year. It could even be the last ever Lydia Martin party! You're not going to miss that, are you?"

Stiles gave a silent shout of hurrah after he finally spied his calculator and quickly fished it out of his bag, setting it down beside his pencil. He heard Scott exhale in a put-upon sigh. "You know, there was a time when you'd have given anything to go to a Lydia Martin party," he said. "We both did. It was like, the epitome of cool."

"Wow, Scott," Stiles finally replied, grabbing his things and balancing them in his arms. "You're using such big words today. 'Penultimate' and 'epitome'? Is there a girl in English class you're trying to impress?"

The moment Stiles said those words he knew it was a mistake, as almost immediately the good-natured smile that had been on Scott's lips faded away, and the dark cloud of despair that had been haunting them _both_ for the past two months settled over him once more. Stiles audibly groaned and slammed his locker shut, turning on his heel and making his way into the throng of students in the hallway. "Scott, dude – please. _Please_ don't do this to me man, okay? Just forget what I said – I didn't mean it. Just… just don't even think about… about _anything_ you might be thinking about, okay? Just take a deep breath, hold it, and focus on something completely different. Think about math class, or lacrosse, or even think about what awesome video game you're going to play after school today. Just think happy thoughts, okay?"

"Hey guys!"

Stiles looked up to see Malia and Lydia walking towards them, smiles on their faces and books in their arms as they stopped to say hello on their way to class.

"Ladies," Stiles greeted, returning their smiles with his own. "How goes your day?"

"Good," Malia replied.

"Surprisingly, I'm having a good day as well," Lydia stated happily. "All the planning for this weekend is going wonderfully. The DJ is booked, the decorators have been hired, and I'm having the invitations printed as we speak. We're going to be at Juniper Lake; it'll be a great way to kick off spring break."

"Yeah, it should be pretty fun," Malia said. "Except for the fact that Lydia's forcing me to find a date, even though I've already said that I want to go alone." Malia looked pointedly at Lydia, who just rolled her eyes.

"Oh please, Malia. No one wants to go to parties alone. You're just upset because you don't know who to ask. But don't worry dear," she said, patting Malia's arm, "we'll find you someone soon."

Malia rolled her own eyes and shook her head, her gaze turning and landing on Scott. "Hey, it's too bad Kira left. Now you'll have to look for someone el –."

A cacophony of shocked and angry noises interrupted Malia's words and she blinked, turning to look at Stiles who was staring at her in incredulous disbelief. "Wha – Malia! Malia, what are you doing?! You don't say _her_ name in front of you-know-who!" He waved his arms in front of Scott, as though blocking his vision would somehow deafen his ears. "You've just – I've been working all morning to get him to this point and you just ruined all of it!"

He turned around and pressed his books into Scott's chest – who looked as though his kitten had just been run over – forcing him to hold them before physically grabbing his shoulders and turning him around. He pushed him down the hall in the opposite direction, casting a dark glare behind him as he left. "You are not allowed to speak to him for the rest of the day, understand? You – you are _prohibited_ from even saying a _word_ to him until after the last bell has rung; and if you _do_ speak to him, you will only say nice, uplifting things that have nothing to do with you-know-what or you-know-who." Stiles turned back around and continued pushing Scott down the hall, muttering a final word of _"women"_ before grabbing Scott's sleeve and disappearing into class.

* * *

The school-day soon came to an end and Stiles found himself sitting on the sidelines while he watched Scott running across the field in his lacrosse gear, swerving around the other players and making his way towards the net. After a few more twists and turns he threw the ball past the goalkeeper and scored. Stiles leaned back against the bleachers as Scott's team cheered, along with some of the crowd that had come to watch. His eyes proceeded to follow Coach as he walked across the field and began reprimanding – okay, _yelling_ – at the other team, telling them where they went wrong and how they needed to "stop letting McCall run the whole show". Stiles caught Scott's eye and he quickly smiled, nodding his head in congratulations before Scott went back to the middle of the field to start the next round.

Stiles sighed, glancing at his watch as he waited for practice to be over. Being second string – or third string, as it now so often felt – may be all right since he was never expected to carry the weight of the game on his shoulders like Scott was, but _sheesh –_ if it couldn't be the most boring thing _ever_. The only reason he'd been coming lately to practice (rather than practicing that which he actually needed to learn) was to make sure that Scott focused his energy on something _other_ than his breakup with Kira; and at the moment that was a top-three priority – for both Scott's sanity _and_ Stiles'.

"So Mandy, do you know where you're going after graduation?"

Two girls made their way onto the bleachers from the sidelines, sitting down a few seats behind Stiles. They continued to talk as others around them shouted and cheered, discussing that which Stiles had been trying to ignore for the past few weeks.

"I'm debating between staying in-State or going somewhere else. How 'bout you?"

"I'm getting as far away from this town as I can. Seriously – I've spent my whole life here, and I just want to get out and be somewhere new and _fun_. I was thinking about going to a college on the east coast, but I'm also thinking about going overseas."

"Do you know what you're taking?"

"I tell my family that I'm going to get a degree in physics, but honestly? I have no idea. I'm just going to take general courses for my first semester and decide what I want to do from there. I just want to get out of this town…."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad here!"

"Yes it is! Everyone knows everyone and I just want to be in a place where no one knows me or who I am. I just want to be in a place where I can just be _me_ , you know? Where I can be someone _new_."

Stiles tried to ignore the conversation and focus instead on the game, but their exchange was impossible not to hear. They continued to talk about what they were going to do until finally Stiles had enough and moved to a different seat at the end of the stands.

It was a conversation being had by every senior student across the country – heck, across the entire world. A bunch of eighteen-year olds being forced to decide what the rest of their lives would look like, which pristine universities would be the ones to educate them, and which careers they'd spend the next four to eight years of their lives working towards. It was a conversation and decision that every teenager couldn't wait to have – until they were actually having it; at which point all their hopes and dreams came to a terrifying crossroads, and they were forced to decide which dreams actually had hope, and which hopes were actually just dreams.

Stiles had been trying to ignore that decision for a while now. His dad had brought it up a few times and he'd even had Melissa asking what he was planning to do come fall, but he'd always shrugged the question off and said he was still thinking about it. It wasn't a lie – he was thinking about it. Only, he was thinking about it in an entirely different way from everyone else.

If he did go to university in the fall, what would that mean for him and the school he chose to go to? Alayna had warned him that others would follow Givens, that for all these years it wasn't actually the Nemeton that had been the beacon of Beacon Hills, it had been him. Whether the creatures who'd attacked them over the years knew it or not, they'd been drawn here by him and his powers, by his being the _Blessed_. He'd thankfully been surrounded by werewolves and banshees, werecoyotes and kitsunes, so the people of Beacon Hills had always been protected. But if he went to university, if he left what little protection he and the innocent people around him had… then what chance did anyone that came into contact with him have? He was stronger now, yes, more comfortable in his gift – but it hadn't even been a year. He was still trying to learn new things, he was still trying to master his control over the elements – of which he still only had two – and he wasn't sure he would learn enough about them in time for the fall, where he would then most likely be the only standing between innocent people and the rest of the supernatural world.

Scott had said he would go to whatever university Stiles went to, that there was no question about that; and while Stiles wanted to believe that he and Scott would never actually have to be separated, he couldn't let his decisions and his being the _Blessed_ inhibit Scott from being everything that he could be in this life. He couldn't make him come with him just because he was scared, or because he thought he needed his help. Just because his future was now so uncertain, didn't mean that Scott's had to be. In fact, he would do everything he could to make sure that it wasn't.

"Hey man," a voice suddenly said, jolting Stiles out of his thoughts. Stiles looked up at Scott then around the field and realised that the team had taken a few minutes break between practice; Scott grabbed a water-bottle from his bag and took a long drink as he sat down beside his friend. "What's up?"

"Oh, you know; just watching everyone practice and actually have fun while I sit here wondering what I'm gonna make for supper tonight."

"Why don't you just order pizza? That's what I would do."

"That's because you have a mom who regularly makes you home-cooked food and so eating out is actually exciting. I, on the other hand, have a father who used to always bring fast-food home like it was the only food on the planet. You can only eat out for so long before you start to forget what home-made food tastes like. Besides, I always make supper. My biggest problem is deciding which meal I'm going to make."

Scott tapped his foot against the ground as he looked out into the field. "My mom's working the nightshift tonight; I can come over and help you, if you want. I have to learn how to cook anyway so I won't starve once we leave for college. In reality, though, I'll probably just eat whatever you make."

Stiles pressed his lips together and didn't reply. A few minutes later Coach's shrill whistle broke through the air and everyone began making their way back towards the middle of the field. Scott got to his feet, turning around to Stiles with a questioning look. "Sound good?" he asked.

Stiles finally nodded his head, forcing a smile onto his face. "Yeah, sounds good."

Scott flashed him a smile one last time before turning back around and heading out for the second half of practice.

The second half of practice went much like the first, only this time Stiles began to take notice of one particular player who seemed to keep getting in everyone's way. At first Stiles had thought it was accidental; that – like so many other players on Coach's lacrosse team – he was just athletically challenged. But as Stiles watched his footsteps and movements, he began to notice that each step appeared to be carefully placed, and with every passing minute, each "accidental" bump into another player began to almost look as though it were deliberately done. It was when the player "tripped" into Scott, forcing him to miss a pass, that Stiles knew it for certain: this guy was playing dirty.

 _Well then,_ Stiles thought, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. _Two can play at that game._

The next time the guy – number 32, Mark Geoffreys – began heading towards one of the players on Scott's team, Stiles quietly lifted his fingers and, gathering a pocket of air together, shoved it against the boy's chest, pushing him over. Caught off guard, Geoffreys stumbled past the player he'd been just about to hit, veering off into the opposite direction. At that same moment Stiles raised his other hand and the ground beneath the boy's feet rose and caught his foot, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt.

Stiles choked back a laugh and quickly put his hands down, leaning back casually against the stands. He watched as Coach blew his whistle and the game came to a stop, everyone looking up to see what had caused the disruption. Geoffreys spluttered and protested as Coach asked him what the heck had happened and if, as a member of this team, could he at least learn how to run without falling flat on his ass?

Geoffreys mumbled an annoyed apology before getting back to his feet and a moment later the game resumed once more. It didn't take long, however, for him to start bumping into the other players again, and the moment he did Stiles was there to stop him; or at least make his cheating a heck of a lot more difficult.

He shoved Geoffreys this way and that with the air, jabbing him in the sides and sometime sending a burst of wind to slap him in the face. He could see the boy was getting confused as he looked around, trying to figure out if anyone else was experiencing what he was, but the game's constant movement kept him from being able to really focus on it. The game continued on.

Scott was heading toward the enemy goal, his stick raised and about to receive a pass from Danny, from which standpoint he had the perfect opportunity to score the final goal. Stiles watched as Geoffreys made one last effort and ran towards him, where Stiles was sure he was going to "accidentally" fall into Scott's side and make him miss the pass. Without a second thought Stiles raised his fingers and created an invisible rope of air formed right in front of Geoffreys' path. Almost like a cartoon, Geoffreys – whose eyes were focused entirely on Scott - tripped over the rope; he stumbled, trying to catch himself as he continued to make his way towards the werewolf. With one final gust of wind, Geoffreys crashed into a member of his own team, limbs sprawling everywhere as they both fell ungainly down into a heap. Scott, having caught the pass, ran towards the goal and finished scoring the final point, winning the game.

Coach blew the whistle and it was then that everyone could hear Geoffreys' loud swears, as the cheater began to complain of his bizarre, unfair, and ill-fortune. Someone else then shouted that perhaps he should stop cheating and play the game properly, at which point the two began to break out in a fight.

Coach blew his whistle shrilly as he yelled and began his efforts at breaking the two up. The rest of the team took that moment as an impromptu break and went back to get their water bottles. Scott made his way over to Stiles and plopped down beside him. Stiles said nothing at first, before finally letting out a cough and schooling his face into mild curiosity. "So, how was the game?" he asked.

When he turned he finally saw Scott's face, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and knowing eyes. "Geoffreys is being a jerk, but that's nothing new." He took a swig of water before bringing the bottle back down, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's nice to see him mess up, though. He's been an ass ever since he joined the team. I seriously don't know why Coach lets him stay."

"Because he's a decent player, and in Beacon Hills decent means you're practically a star."

"It's a shame Jackson wasn't able to… _mess_ _up_ like this when he was here; now _that_ would have been fun to watch."

"That would have been _gold_ to watch. Would have felt great, too."

"Yeah, well. It's not like I would know anything about that."

Stiles' grin stretched across his face. "'Course not."

Coach blew his whistle again and yelled at everyone to get back to the field, before glancing at his watch and suddenly yelling once more, only this time telling everyone to pack up and go home for the day. Although they still had another twenty-minutes of practice left according to the clock, it apparently was time to be done.

"You know," Stiles commented as he got up and followed Scott and the rest of the team to the locker room. "I don't even think he knew I was there. That's a new low, even for him."

"Well if it's any consolation, I think the reason he's been more crazy than usual lately is because he has a girlfriend – and this time he actually wants to keep her. I mean, he's cancelled practice three times now and he keeps calling me McCallister, so it doesn't surprise me that he's now forgetting who's even on his team."

"It doesn't really matter," Stiles said as he reached his gym locker and began removing his gear. "Lacrosse hasn't really been the same this year."

"Yeah…." Scott replied quietly, taking his helmet off his head. "And with graduation coming, it's hard to really worry about sports." Scott glanced at Stiles, but seeing the boarded off expression on his face he sighed, deciding to talk about something else.

Scott wasn't an idiot. Oblivious, sometimes – maybe. But he was smarter than people gave him credit for. And if there was one thing he knew about more than anything else, it was Stiles. He wasn't sure exactly what it was that was going through his friend's head – that was something no one with any amount of degrees in psychology could do – but he knew that something was bothering him, that was keeping his mouth shut and his mood melancholy. Scott knew that it had something to do with graduation and what they'd be doing in the fall; he'd tried broaching the subject with Stiles for a while now, wanting to ask where he was planning to go so that they'd be able to apply to the same universities together, but every time he brought it up Stiles would shut down and it'd be like trying to talk to a brick wall, getting no real response and going absolutely no where.

He couldn't understand what Stiles was so worried about, but Scott was determined to figure it out; and once he did he was going to make sure that he would never have to worry about it again. Friendships like theirs didn't end with high-school – it was never going to – and if that was what Stiles was worrying about, then Scott wanted to quell those fears and make sure that he never worried about them again.

But for now, Scott would let it be. They still had a few months left before grad and therefore plenty of time to talk about it – what could possibly happen between then and now?

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time :) Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles did end up going to Lydia's party, if for nothing else than to just hang out with his friends in what would be one the last social settings they'd have together.

Grabbing a piece of cake from the dessert table, Stiles made his way out onto the lake-front and towards a group of chairs where the pack was currently sitting. He sat down in an empty seat beside Lydia, who was in the middle of telling everyone what she was doing for spring break.

"My mom and I are going to fly to L.A. where she said we'd go shopping, followed by a day of Star-Watching. It'll be great to finally be in a place where there aren't any kanimas, or witches, or werewolves trying to kill you all the time."

"Sounds boring," Malia said, biting into a piece of pie she'd snatched earlier in the evening. "I mean, seriously – shopping sounds bad enough, but literally standing around and trying to see if famous celebrities walk by? I mean, come on – isn't that the definition of 'needing a life'?"

Lydia scoffed and shook her head. "Malia, please – you have no idea how many famous actors and actresses I've been able to meet over the years, just because I have a little something called _initiative_. You would do well to follow in my footsteps."

Malia snorted and took another bite. "No thanks. I'd rather fight a creature of the supernatural any day than do that."

The two girls continued to argue back and forth, the boys wisely staying out of it, until the youngest of their pack walked across the sand and joined them.

"Hey guys," Liam said, a bright smile on his face. His girlfriend stood beside him, watching the group of older students shyly, giving a small wave in hello. Liam continued to smile as though he'd just been handed the moon. "What's going on?"

"Liam, what are you doing here?" Lydia asked. "This party is for seniors _only_."

"Oh come on Lydia," Liam replied, undeterred. "There's tons of people who aren't seniors here. You just have bad security."

Lydia huffed and Liam sat down with his girlfriend. The group chatted for a while, mostly about what they were planning to do for their spring break, until a game of beach-volleyball started up and the group slowly dispersed, some going to play and others finding a place to watch. Eventually the only ones left were Scott and Stiles, who pulled up the empty chairs to use as footstools as they watched the party around them carry on.

Scott watched Stiles silently as he took a drink, trying to remove any expression on his face that might give away what he was about to ask. Luckily Stiles wasn't looking at him, his gaze turned instead towards the volleyball game, but it was clear from anyone who saw him that he wasn't paying the least bit attention.

Finally, gathering his courage, Scott faked a cough and spoke. "Hey Stiles?" he said lightly. Stiles blinked once before turning to him, his eyebrow raised questioningly. Scott cleared his throat and continued. Maybe taking the quick but offhanded approach would work. "Dude, I know you don't want to talk about it, but I gotta know which schools you're applying for. You know I'm not looking for anything high-end; just something that will give me a degree and a decent education. Maybe one that has a lacrosse team?"

Like Scott had predicted, Stiles' face immediately shut down and he turned away, looking like he'd rather be anywhere than where he was. Scott refused to budge, though, and after a minute of silence Stiles finally spoke up. "Do you even know what you want to do?" he asked, clearly trying to keep his voice calm and light.

"Not really," Scott replied honestly, taking a moment to actually think about it. Upon reflection, he began to realise just how few ideas he had. "I mean, with everything that's gone on these past few years, it's been kind of hard to figure out what I'd like to do for a career. I mean, I've enjoyed working for Deaton at the clinic, but I'm not really sure that's what I'd like to do for life." Seeing Stiles' stare, Scott quickly added, "But I'm sure once I'm there I'll figure it out. You have to try a bunch of stuff before you know what you want to do, right?"

Stiles didn't say anything for a few minutes and when he did his voice was quiet, as though he wasn't really sure he wanted to say what he was going to say. "Well have you ever thought about… about taking a gap year?"

Scott blinked and his brows furrowed together in a small frown. No, he hadn't thought about taking a gap year – if he was honest, the idea hadn't ever even entered his mind. It was just so common that after high-school you went to college, it was so expected, that he hadn't even considered doing anything else. Because going to college after high-school was just… it was just the thing to do.

But clearly, Stiles didn't feel the same way.

"You want to take a gap year?" Scott asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

Stiles hunched slightly in on himself, turning away and refusing to meet Scott's eye. "Yeah, well…. With everything that's… happened, recently… I thought maybe it'd be good to just take a bit of a break and not have to worry about anything for a while. Besides, I'm still figuring things out, and I guess I just…." Stiles trailed off, not finishing his thought as his eyes returned to the people on the beach.

Scott stared at Stiles for a long moment, before finally he broke the silence. "I guess I… I guess I never really thought about doing a gap year. I mean, you're right – these past three years have been crazy, but… are you sure that's what you want to do?"

Stiles fought the urge to sigh in frustration. He knew Scott would react this way, that he'd gently but firmly push for him to change his mind, to try and quietly convince him that a gap year was a bad idea, that he should start deciding which school he wanted to go to, and _now_. It shouldn't have bothered him, he'd known it was coming, but whether he like it or not, it did.

"Scott," Stiles began, trying again to make his case. "Look. All I know is that I –." Stiles stopped, his words halting in his mouth before they had a chance to leave his tongue.

Scott frowned, staring at Stiles in bemusement. "What?" he asked after a moment.

Without warning Stiles stood to his feet, staring off into the distance with a deepening frown as he began to make his way out of the circle of chairs and out onto the beach.

Scott pushed his chair away and got up, confusion starting to line across his face. "Stiles, what's the matter? Where are you going?"

"It's nothing," Stiles said after a few moments, but he didn't turn around. "I'm just… I'm gonna go for a walk." Catching Scott's movements, Stiles quickly added, "Alone."

Scott stopped and Stiles continued walking until he reached the trees, which ran alongside the rest of the beach, keeping it hidden from everyone else's view. As Stiles walked he looked back and forth, keeping his eyes and ears wide open as he quickly reached for the Earth and cast out his senses as far as he could.

Something had happened, something was _happening_. He wasn't sure what it was or where it was coming from, but he knew that it was nearby and that it was imperative he reach it as fast as he could. Whether it was the earth or the air telling him or both, Stiles didn't know – but he knew that if he didn't find out what it was, something bad was going to happen.

After a few minutes of walking Stiles came upon an open clearing, secluded and hidden from the rest of the lake. Recent footprints dug deep into the sand, a few sets of car keys and t-shirts strewn nearby, clearly showing that people had been here not too long ago. The only question was, where were those people now?

The wind picked up, whispering against Stiles' ears and he turned, his eyes looking out onto the water for any sign of the missing kids.

And that was when he saw it.

Out in the water a couple-hundred feet from shore, a hand was breaking the surface, its fingers reaching desperately above the water, sending deceptively gentle ripples across its surface as it frantically moved back and forth. It was evident to any observer what was happening.

The person was drowning.

Without a second thought Stiles ran forward and dove into the water, swimming as fast as he could towards the hand in the lake. He reached it quickly, and as soon as he did he took a breath and ducked under the water. Opening his eyes, he was momentarily taken aback at what he saw.

A forest of reeds and lake-weeds covered the bottom of the lake, which in itself wasn't that deep, but their depth didn't matter – for somehow they had managed to entrap not just one or two people, but four. All of them were covered by the reeds, which wrapped around their legs and for some their arms, imprisoning them and refusing to let go. They were all pulling desperately against the weeds, though their efforts proved only to further entangle and entrap them. Two were nearer to the bottom while one was a bit farther way; the one whose hand Stiles had seen above the water was closest to the surface; the weeds wrapped around his leg were pulled taught, refusing to let him go any farther than he'd already managed to get.

Immediately Stiles began swimming towards him and quickly grabbed onto the reed, pulling it has hard as he could. Like iron, though, the reed refused to break – and for a few moments Stiles was left struggling as he attempted to rip it in half. By now a few of the swimmers had recognised that someone was with them and they desperately reached towards him – drowning men and women reaching for their last hope of survival.

Stiles moved to the person's leg and tried to unwrap it from there, but again the weed would not move. A thought sprang into Stiles' mind and he quickly moved his hand to his pocket, digging until he found his keys and pulled them out. He took the serrated edge and began cutting at the reed, moving it back and forth as fast as he could. At last, bit by bit, the weed began to break until with a final swipe it snapped, and the young man was set free. He rose in the water until his head broke the surface and he could breathe the air once again.

One down, three to go.

Stiles immediately turned around and started swimming farther down until he reached the next swimmer. Doing just as he had with the first one, he took his keys and began cutting away at the reeds. Unlike the first swimmer, however, this one was bound multiple times across her ankles and legs, meaning it would take all the more longer to free her. Stiles continued to cut the weeds, looking up every few moments to see how she was doing. The young woman appeared to be watching him, but it was evident by her face that she was nearing the end and would need to reach the surface before her lungs finally gave out. Stiles increased his pace, cutting the reeds as fast as he could.

A few moments later the last reed snapped and the girl was set free. Her movements were sluggish, but with a push from Stiles she was able to make her way up to the surface, where the first swimmer met her and helped pull her up the rest of the way.

Two down, two to go.

Stiles wasn't sure how long he'd been down there, whether it had been only a couple of minutes or a couple of hours, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was getting to each kid and freeing them as fast as he could before they drowned. He made quick work of the weeds surrounding the third person's legs and soon they too were swimming back to the surface. The last swimmer – a young man – was thankfully more awake and aware than the last three, and he helped Stiles as he cut away at the weeds, pulling and ripping at them until finally – _finally_ – they broke free.

Relief washed over Stiles and he began to push at the man, trying to make him swim to the surface when he suddenly turned and grabbed Stiles' arm, his eyes wide as he motioned frantically towards his right. Turning his head, Stiles looked in the direction where he was pointing. At first he saw nothing, the murkiness of the lake making it difficult to see, but after a moment he spied a small figure about a hundred feet away, hidden among a multitude of reeds and lake-weeds, just as the other swimmers had been. But unlike the first four swimmers he had just rescued, this one was frighteningly still, their hair the only thing moving in the water.

Stiles turned back to the young man beside him and nodded his head, before pushing him towards the surface. He quickly turned and began swimming towards the last imprisoned swimmer.

When he reached her his heart sank and his breath caught in his throat; she was terrifyingly still, her eyes closed and chest unmoving. For all appearances, it looked as though she were dead. Stiles, however, refused to accept that and he quickly began cutting at the reeds. These reeds, however, were far more in number than the ones that had been around the other swimmers, and were bound around the girl's body like a blanket – a blanket that was wrapping her in death.

Stiles' heart began to beat faster and faster in his chest, and a rising panic rose in his throat. She was dying; this girl was dying and he was trying to free her, he was trying to free her but the weeds just wouldn't let her go and there were so many of them, and even if he did manage to cut them all it wouldn't matter, because she needed air and she needed air _now_ –

Stiles abruptly stilled, as a thought suddenly flashed in his mind.

Without wasting another second, Stiles lifted his hand and placed it over the girl's nose and mouth. He closed his eyes, focusing for only a brief moment, before gently raising his fingers. A thin bubble formed, following after his fingers until they eventually covered the girl's entire mouth and nose, looking like a clear mask. The girl gasped, though her eyes remained shut. After a moment her chest began to rise and fall, and the blue that had begun to tinge her lips quickly began to fade away.

Relief poured through Stiles' body and he had to take a moment to gather himself back together, to let the shock and adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins to die down, before he was able to right himself and focus on cutting the last of the reeds. After he cut through the last one he grabbed the girl around her waist and began to make their way back to the surface.

Out of nowhere, a powerful current suddenly smacked into Stiles' side and sent him spinning back down into the water. The girl was torn from his arms and disappeared from his view, as Stiles continued to roll in like a tumbler in a dryer, unable to focus on anything other than the dizzying sensation that overtook his senses. After what seemed like an age the spinning finally stopped and Stiles managed to right himself, whipping his head back and forth as he tried to figure out where he was.

He was at least forty-feet deeper and farther away than the girl, who he could now see as only a small speck of white at the surface. Numerous legs kicked around her, indicating that others were now here and she was safe.

Taking a breath and trying to reorient himself from the strange and unexpected phenomenon, Stiles began kicking his legs towards the surface once more. Not even a five-seconds had passed, though, before another current crashed into him and sent him careening back into the deep.

Stiles was in utter disbelief as he was thrown yet again from reaching the surface. It was almost as though the lake itself was forcing him back, as though it somehow didn't want him to leave –

The reeds that had entrapped the young swimmers from before now suddenly began to wrap themselves around Stiles' own leg, pulling him down and refusing to let him go. Stiles pulled on the reeds and kicked, trying to break them free, but failing. He scrambled for his keys, hoping to cut the weeds away as he had for the others, but before he grab them the water began to churn, spinning him around and around without end. The weeds around his legs wrapped faster and faster, tighter and tighter, until Stiles finally cried out in pain as they dug into his skin. Stiles whipped out his hand, trying to somehow take control, to somehow grab the water and stop what it was doing, but he couldn't feel it – he couldn't feel the water, not like the Earth and Air. It was as though it were on the other side of a glass, a glass that was right in front of him – so close, but yet so far out of reach.

The weeds pulled tighter as Stiles continued to turn until blood began to float in the water around them. Stiles continued to struggle, to try and take hold of the water but it was no use; it was no use and no matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn't let go, _it wouldn't let go_ –

A hand suddenly grasped Stiles' arm and like a switch being turned off, the cyclone immediately ceased and the weeds around Stiles' legs abruptly let go. Stiles looked up to see Scott, his wide, fearful eyes watching him before he began to pull him back to the surface. Stiles kicked his legs and in a few moments they broke the surface and met the air once more.

The silence that had surrounded him while he'd been underwater was abruptly replaced with loud shouts and cries along with the splashing of water. Stiles looked over at the shore to see dozens of people milling around each other, frantically moving in a panicked state of frenzy. He could see four of the swimmers laying on the beach, surrounded by others who were checking to see if they were all right. To Stiles' relief, they were awake and responding. Scott's grip on his arm hadn't been removed, however, and the werewolf quickly spun him around, fear and worry etched deep across his face. "Stiles, are you okay?!" he shouted frantically.

"I'm fine," Stiles said quickly. "I'm fine. They're all out; there's no one else down there." He glanced down at the water, his brows furrowing together in both belated shock and confusion.

Scott followed his gaze before quickly looking back at him. "What was that?!"

"I don't know," Stiles replied, looking up towards the shore.

"What do you mean, you don't know?! You were spinning around like a top on steroids and the reeds were tied around your _leg_. What the hell happe –."

"I don't know!" Stiles shouted. The panic he had fervently pushed away before was now returning with a vengeance and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to get out of the water and on to dry land. Trying to turn the conversation, he asked, "How did you know we were here?"

"I heard shouting," Scott replied, his voice still on edge but allowing Stiles to change the subject. "I heard a bunch of people shouting, so I came looking for them. Malia and Liam heard it too and everyone followed us until we got here. We pulled the kids from the water, but it wasn't until just now they told us that there were two other people down there."

They began making their way back to the beach and soon their feet touched the sandy floor. A senior – Jessica Fieldman, who had extensive first-aid training – was in the middle of checking the last girl that was pulled from the water, making sure she was okay. After feeling the pulse beneath her neck, Jessica let out a sigh of relief. "She's okay," she said, leaning back and wiping a hand across her forehead. "I don't know how, but she's okay." Seeing that Stiles had now made it to shore, she frowned. "How are you?" she asked, her eyes scanning him for any signs of distress. Her eyes caught the red marks and cuts on his shin, and she immediately grabbed a towel from nearby and crouched down beside him. She opened a water-bottle and poured it over the wounds, ignoring Stiles' protests as she proceeded to wrap the towel around his leg.

Stiles shook his head until he finally managed to pull away. "I'm fine," he insisted, but he took the towel and kept it pressed against the cuts. "Seriously, I feel fine. Great, even. But what about everyone else? Are they okay?"

"Everyone else is fine," Jessica said, rising to her feet. "The only one who was unconscious was the last girl, but I've already called the paramedics and they'll be here in a few minutes. She's breathing normally, though, so she should be fine." She eyed Stiles carefully one last time before finally turning and moving back towards the now-resting swimmers.

"Stiles!"

Stiles turned to see Lydia and Malia running towards him, Liam and his girlfriend not far behind. When they arrived, Lydia quickly got on her knees and wrapped her arms around Stiles' shoulders in a hug. When she pulled back, her eyes were wide with fear and concern. "Stiles, are you okay? They said you saved them, and –."

"I'm fine," Stiles said again, wishing people would actually believe him. "I wasn't the one who was in danger, so you don't have to worry about me."

"How did you know they were in trouble?" Malia asked.

Stiles leaned back and waited a few moments before speaking, as a bunch of people came up and slapped his shoulder in congratulations for having saved the five swimmers. After a few minutes he finally turned back to the pack and spoke. "I was just taking a walk when I saw someone in the water. They looked like they needed help, so I swam over to them. They'd swam into a bunch of reeds and got tangled. I cut the reeds to get them out."

"Holy crap," Liam said, eyebrows raised in amazement. "They're really lucky you came by. From what they're saying, if you hadn't found them, they'd have drowned."

"Yeah," Stiles repeated as more people began walking towards them to say their thanks. His eyes glanced back at the lake, which stood calm and innocent against the light of the setting sun. "Lucky."

The party soon died down after the incident, the happy mood of earlier effectively lost. After helping Lydia finish cleaning up, Scott and Stiles made their way to the jeep, slamming the doors shut as they got inside. Stiles dug his keys out of his pocket, taking a moment to remove the stray weeds that had gotten tangled in the ring. Scott watched him for a moment, before finally speaking up. "They said one of the girls had been underwater for nearly seven minutes before you got there."

"Yeah?" Stiles replied absently, rubbing the keys – which were still wet – against his now semi-dry shirt.

"Yeah. Apparently four of them had been looking for a quiet place to swim when they found the girl – the last one you pulled from the water – swimming by herself. They didn't know who she was, so they were going to keep going until they found another part of the beach to swim in. But then the girl went under the water and when she didn't come back up, they went to help her. They didn't know there were reeds there, so they all ended up getting stuck. They said they'd been down there for a long time before you finally showed up. And they also said…." Scott trailed off and Stiles looked up, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

"What?" he prompted.

Scott took a breath, before finally meeting Stiles' eyes. "They said you were down there for over ten minutes and that they didn't see you come up for air, once. They said they'd thought for sure that you'd drowned. They don't know how you or the girl survived."

Stiles frowned, his brows furrowing together in confusion as he shook his head. "What? It wasn't that long," he said, putting the keys into the ignition and turning them forward. The jeep roared to life and Stiles reached for his seatbelt. Catching Scott's eye, he added, "Seriously! They must have got their times wrong. There was no way I was down there for ten minutes. I jumped in, got them out, and that was all. I'm sure it only felt that long because of what was going on."

"Stiles, one of the girls had a watch. She said she timed you, because she knew that if you were down there longer than a couple minutes, that you –."

"Scott, come on. If I was really down there that long, don't you think I'd have noticed? I mean, I'm not great at holding my breath to begin with, but I didn't even feel the need to take a breath or go up for air –."

Stiles broke off, his hands going still as the realisation of what he was saying suddenly began to dawn on him.

It was true. He hadn't ever felt the need to go up for air; he hadn't even felt the need to breathe. It was like he hadn't even been under water at all; the fear, the urgency – he felt it all because of the need to save the swimmers, not because his body was being strained or deprived of oxygen. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was almost like he'd been breathing the entire time –

Stiles leaned back in his seat, suddenly realising just what exactly had happened.

 _Water_.

Somehow, some way, during that whole struggle to free those kids from the reeds… he'd used the element of Water. He'd never intended to use it, hadn't even tried, hadn't even noticed – but still, he'd used it. He'd used the element's power to breathe where he shouldn't have been able.

He'd found the third element. He thought for sure that he hadn't had any power over it – he'd tried to use it before when the water started acting crazy, but it didn't work. He still didn't even know what that was about, but he'd been sure that Water _hadn't_ come under his control. But now, realising that he'd been breathing the entire time, that he actually had been using at least _some_ aspect of Water….

Suddenly Stiles was opening the door and stumbling out onto the ground, making a beeline for the lake's edge a few hundred feet away. Startled, Scott quickly tore open his own door and took off after him.

Once they reached the lake Stiles fell to his knees, hesitating only a moment to think about what he was doing before he dunked his head beneath the water. It didn't feel any different than it usually did, but Stiles ignored any feelings of uncertainty and, with steeled resolve, opened his mouth and took a breath.

His whole body reacted on instinct as the water was sucked into his lungs and he immediately jerked back, lifting his head out of the water as he spluttered and coughed, hacking up the small bit of water he had just swallowed.

Scott came up quickly beside him, looking at him as though he were crazy. He grabbed Stiles' arms and pulled him back from the water's edge. "Stiles, what the hell?! Are you insane?! What were you thinking –."

Stiles continued to cough, staring at the water in confusion. Why hadn't it worked? He'd breathed in it before, he was sure of it now – so why wasn't it working?

Scott growled in frustration and hauled Stiles to his feet, dragging him back towards the jeep and shoving him inside. "You're crazy," he said, shaking his head. "You're absolutely crazy. Seriously – what was that supposed to accomplish, huh? To just prove that you're actually nuts?"

Stiles settled in his seat and continued to cough for a few moments, until at last he was able to speak. "I was… I was breathing, before," he stammered, trying to make Scott understand. "When I was in the water. That's how I stayed under for so long, because I was breathing. I was always breathing. I didn't realise I was doing it, I just… I just _did it_."

Scott stared at him for a moment, the anger slowly fading away as understanding began to settle on his face. "Do you mean… do you mean that you used, like – like your _powers?_ " he asked cautiously.

Stiles nodded his head. "Yeah, at least – at least I think so. In fact, I'm sure of it. When I was in the water, I didn't even feel tired. I was scared as hell and I could feel the adrenaline, but I was never _tired_. I was cutting at the reeds as fast as I could, but my arms never ached; they never got sore. It was like… it was like I was constantly getting more energy the moment I used it up. And I – the only other times I can think of feeling that is whenever I'm using the Earth or the Air. So that… that has to be what it was. Only this time, it was the water. It was _Water_."

Scott stared at Stiles in disbelief, before a small, incredulous smile began tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Well that… that's a pretty good time for it to show up," he said.

Stiles frowned. "But it didn't. I mean, when I put my head under the water just now, it didn't do anything. I didn't feel like I felt before and obviously I couldn't breathe, so… so I don't know what…."

"Maybe it just needs time," Scott suggested after a moment. "You said you're still figuring how this all works, so maybe when a new element shows up, you just have to wait a bit for it to completely start working. Right?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied, putting the jeep into reverse and backing out of the parking spot. "Yeah. Maybe it just needs time."

* * *

They got back to Scott's place at nine-thirty where they managed to grab the leftovers of Melissa's supper, having forgotten to get something to eat in all the commotion earlier that evening.

They told Melissa what had happened at the lake, leaving out the part of course where Stiles had been breathing underwater before a random, underwater-cyclone decided to spring up and try to kill him. She'd been shocked and concerned at the near disaster, but had quickly congratulated Stiles for rescuing all the swimmers. She'd sounded like a proud mother praising her son, which left Stiles feeling just slightly embarrassed, but at the same time warmly pleased.

When they'd finished talking, Melissa suddenly rose to her feet. "Oh," she said, turning around and walking towards the counter, where a pile of mail sat in a heap. She rifled through the letters and flyers until she found the one she wanted, and handed it to Scott. "This came for you today."

Scott turned the small, square envelope curiously around a few times before finally ripping it open and taking out the letter inside. He opened it up and his eyes scanned the paper as he absently took another bite of food.

Stiles could wait no longer and finally asked, "Who's it from?"

"It's from the pack in Colorado," Scott replied.

"The pack in Colorado?" Stiles repeated, frowning in bemusement. He swallowed. "You mean the one that…."

"Yeah." Scott's eyes went back to the top of the letter as he began to read it again. "Yeah, I – I actually met the pack's alpha a couple years ago; he and a couple of guys from his betas were checking out some of the new packs that had recently formed, and wanted to say hello, or something. He was actually pretty nice. Arrogant, but nice."

"What was his name?" Stiles asked, placing another spoonful of dessert – simple but glorious chocolate ice-cream – in his mouth.

Scott frowned, trying to remember. "It was… Darius, I think?"

Stiles hummed, tapping his spoon against his mouth. "Darius… yeah, now that you say that, it does sound familiar." He blinked. "Hey, is he the one that said he'd be willing to show you the ropes of being a werewolf? Like, give you pointers and whatnot?"

"Yeah, that's him. It didn't work out though because he ended up leaving early, and he wasn't exactly the easiest guy to be around, but it's the thought that counts."

"So what does he want?" Melissa interjected, breaking her way into the conversation.

"He wants to meet," he said, handing his mom the letter. "Says it's no big deal, but that it might be nice to catch up on what we're all doing. Apparently they've fought a couple creatures out there that seem supernatural and he wants some advice."

"Do you plan to go?" Melissa asked, looking up at her son.

"Would that work? I mean, we're just starting spring break, so this would be the perfect time to do it. I'm not sure exactly where they live, but I know their territory is somewhere in the mountains. A week would be the perfect time to go and find them."

Melissa gave her son a look. "Well I'll admit, Scott – I'm not too thrilled with the idea of you going by yourself…."

Scott immediately turned to Stiles, an innocent smile stretching across face. "Hey Stiles, you want to go on a road-trip?"

Stiles leaned back, stretching his arms with a fake, put-upon sigh. "I dunno, Scott. I mean, spending a week hiking through the mountains, surrounded by trees and lakes and waterfalls, with nothing but freedom and nature as your guides? Sounds like a pretty crappy way to spend spring break, to me."

Scott grinned. "All right; we'll spend the weekend packing and leave on Monday."

The two high-fived in agreement and Melissa rolled her eyes, handing the letter back to Scott. "Don't you want to ask the rest of the group if they want to come along?"

Scott just shook his head. "Lydia's going on a trip with her mom and Liam said that he was going to spend the week hanging out with his girlfriend. Besides, it's not that big a deal – we're just going to meet and talk; it's really not Pack business."

"Well you guys be careful then," Melissa said, eyeing each boy evenly. "I mean it. You'll need to bring sleeping bags, food, water, and whatever other gear you'll need to go hiking through the mountains. Okay?"

"Hey, I have, like – an _industrial_ _strength_ flashlight," Stiles said, excitement suddenly growing more and more for the unexpected trip.

"And I have a cooler that can keep our food cold for days!" Scott added.

Melissa watched both boys behind a poorly-hidden smile as they continued discussing all that they would bring. Her eyes hovered over Stiles, and she made a mental note to herself to call John later that evening and let him know what was going on. She knew that, like her, he'd be more than happy to hear that the boys were going to take a road-trip. She knew that John had been worrying about Stiles lately – about his unusually reserved behaviour and growing tendency to brood, along with his refusal to talk about anything concerning university. She hoped that this short vacation would do him some good, and maybe calm his nerves and help him figure out – at least a little bit – what his future would hold.

* * *

The next day they met with Lydia and Malia for lunch, the former of who expressed immediate uncertainty about their planned road-trip and meeting with another pack.

"I mean, it's just so far away," Lydia said, taking a sip of her strawberry-milkshake, a small frown set between her eyes. "And they didn't even tell you where they were!"

"That's because it's their territory, Lydia," Scott replied. "And from what all I've been told over the years – from Deaton and from Derek – the Colorado Pack is pretty territorial."

"All werewolves are territorial," Malia stated.

"Yeah, well – these ones are more so. Come on Malia; when you were living in the woods, you must have met animals who were more protective of their homes than others."

Malia scrunched up her mouth, but slowly nodded her head. She glanced at Lydia and shrugged. "It's true."

Lydia rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, leaning back in her chair and looking straight into Scott's eyes. "I still think that the least they could do is give you a map." She looked between Scott and Stiles a moment longer, before the tension finally eased in her face and she waved her hand in the air. "Fine," she said. "Do what you want. But if you ask me, sending two boys into the mountains where there's no cell-reception and therefore no _Google-Maps_ , is like literally _planning_ to get lost."

"Lydia, Lydia…" Stiles said, tapping his fork against his plate absently. "Do you really think so little of us, that you believe we wouldn't even _try_ to figure out where we're gonna go? That we'd just show up, twiddle our thumbs, and try to follow Scott's nose?" He shook his head, placing his hand over his heart. "I'm hurt." Then he blinked and turned to Scott. "Hey, that's actually not a bad idea!"

Lydia rolled her eyes again, but wasn't able to stop the small smile from tugging at her lips. Finally she let out a sigh and leaned forward, grabbing her milkshake and playing with the straw as she spoke. "I'm serious, you two," she said, looking pointedly at each of them. "You better be careful. Do you know where you even buy a map?"

Stiles scoffed. "Believe it or not, Lydia, I actually _do_."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how to _use_ one?"

Stiles opened his mouth, hesitating for only a brief moment before saying, "Yes." That brief moment, though, was the only moment needed for Lydia to give him her famous _look_ that clearly said: _'I don't believe you'_ , before she silently went back to sipping on her drink. When she finished, she moved onto a different subject. "And what about animals?" she asked. "The mountains aren't like Beacon Hills; they have bears, cougars, elk –."

"Oh my gosh," Scott interrupted, staring at her incredulously. "Lydia, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a _werewolf_. That means if anything, all those animals should be scared of _me_. Besides, it's not like they'd get very far, even if they did try to attack. Not when we have a werewolf and a –." Scott broke off, his eyes widening slightly as he realised what it was he had just been about to say. His mouth hung open for a few moments, gaping helplessly as both Lydia and Malia raised their eyebrows, waiting for him to finish.

"Yes…?" Lydia prompted. "You have a werewolf and a…?"

"And a… a Stiles…." Scott finally finished.

Both Lydia and Malia stared at him for a moment, their eyebrows raised questioningly. "A 'Stiles'?" Lydia repeated.

"Y…yeah," Scott affirmed as he looked away, quickly taking his fork and popping the last few bites of his lunch into his mouth.

"Well thank-you, Scott," Lydia said. "That is _definitely_ reassuring. Now that I know you'll not only have a werewolf on this trip, but also a _Stiles_ , I won't have to be concerned about a single thing."

Scott and Lydia continued to banter back and forth for a few minutes and Stiles inwardly sighed, going back to his lunch. Sheesh – if that hadn't been the most unnecessary near-slipup ever….

Stiles stopped mid-bite, the fork halfway to his open mouth when he suddenly felt the sensation of someone's eyes watching him. He paused and looked up, where his eyes met the hard stare of the werecoyote looking back.

Red-flags began waving in the back of Stiles' mind and he immediately put on a face of nonchalance, finishing his bite and swallowing before giving Malia a smile. "Hey," he said, trying his best to sound casual. "What's up?"

Malia said nothing at first, her dark eyes edged with a frown like they always were when she was trying to figure something out, particularly something that had to do with humans that she was trying to understand; but it had been a while since she'd had that look on her face and even longer since she'd looked that way towards the pack.

Stiles frowned, wondering what it was that was going through her mind. "Malia?"

Malia blinked, as though coming back to herself, and she quickly looked Stiles over once before leaning away. "It's nothing," she said.

This answer, however, only made Stiles more concerned. "No really," he said. "What's wrong?"

Malia squinted at him, as though trying to figure out a puzzle. The unease Stiles had been feeling before returned and he suddenly found himself not wanting to know what she was thinking.

Finally, after a few more seconds, Malia shook her head. "No, it's nothing."

Scott and Lydia both moved their chairs as the got to their feet, forcing the conversation to an end as Stiles and Malia followed suit. Stiles watched as Malia walked up beside Lydia, the two chatting as they made their way out of the restaurant and out into the parking lot. Stiles watched after them, his frown still set between his brows, trying to figure out what had just happened in the last few minutes.

"You ready to go?" Scott asked, interrupting Stiles from his thoughts.

Stiles looked over at Scott, quickly putting a smile on his face before nodding his head. "Yeah," he replied. "Let's get going. We still have to get our food-supplies."

Scott rolled his eyes as the two began making their way towards the jeep. "Granola bars don't count as food-supplies, Stiles," he said.

"Oh Scott, you have so much to learn."

Stiles got into the driver's side and shut the door, glancing one last time at Lydia's car as the two girls left and disappeared onto the road.

* * *

The rest of the weekend went by quickly and was filled entirely with shopping and gathering gear together, as Scott and Stiles tried to figure out all they should take and arguing about everything they shouldn't take. Stiles insisted that they should take along some frozen meals, to which Scott adamantly said no, stating that there'd be no place to cook them. Stiles tried to argue that a fire would work just fine, but Scott ignored him and promptly crossed "frozen dinners" off the list.

By Sunday evening they had everything gathered together and shoved into large hiking backpacks, stuffing everything into the backseat of Stiles' jeep. Stiles marked out their stopping destinations on his phone while Scott poured over an actual physical-map and marked out the route that they planned to take (which Stiles subsequently snapped a photo of and sent to Lydia as proof of their great outdoorsman-abilities).

When Stiles had told his dad what he and Scott were going to do, John had been more than pleased. He was happy to hear that Stiles was finally getting out of the house and doing something fun, and – hopefully – distracting, only voicing concern over whether Stiles' jeep would actually make it into the mountains where they planned to park, before continuing the rest of the way on foot. Stiles stuttered out an offended protest at his father's lack of faith in his "perfect, wonderful, always-reliable jeep", before assuring him that _yes_ , everything would work just fine.

Finally Monday morning came and both boys stood at Melissa's door, saying their last goodbyes before finally making their way into the jeep. Once they were settled and had gone over the checklist one last time, Stiles started the engine. A feeling of excitement coursed through his veins as he saw the dial on the gas tank adjust to "full" and eyed their gear in the back of the vehicle. With the morning sun streaming through the windows, Stiles flashed Scott a grin. "Saddle up your horses, Scotty," he said, taking out a pair of black sunglasses and sliding them on his face. "We've got a trail to blaze."

* * *

A/N: Thank you to all those who left reviews last chapter - your support truly means a lot, and is very much appreciated!

Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time - thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you know that the Greek language has four words for love?"

Stiles was leaning back in his seat, his leg propped up between the door and the dash as Scott drove beside him. They'd passed the Colorado border an hour ago and were now heading up into the mountains, where they'd eventually find a spot to park the jeep before heading out the rest of the way on foot. After being stuck in the vehicle for over twelve hours now – for some crazy reason they thought it would be a good idea to get there as fast as they could, for some even crazier reason they thought it would be easy as pie – so Stiles couldn't wait to finally get out and start their hike.

When he didn't hear an answer, Stiles looked up from his cellphone – from which he was currently tapping on random Wikipedia articles – and gave Scott a pointed look. "Hey," he said, nudging him with his foot. "You listening to me?"

"Hmm?" Scott replied, never taking his eyes off the road.

"I said, did you know that the Greeks have four words for love?"

Scott sighed. "No I didn't, Stiles; but would you like to enlighten me?"

Scott had lost count of how many random facts Stiles had been throwing at him since they'd started this trip. Albeit, the incessant – and, let's be honest, unwanted – information had only begun about halfway through, a clear marker of the moment their excitement and energy for the trip had begun to devolve.

"Well, they do," Stiles said, looking back at his phone. "There's _storge_ , which is the love between a parent and child; there's _agape_ , which is charity love; then there's _eros_ , which I think explains itself; and finally there's _philia_ , which means brotherly love." Stiles paused for a moment before looking up at Scott, his lips pressed in a thin, solemn line. "I _philia_ you, man," he said, reaching over and patting Scott on the shoulder. He waited for Scott to respond, but the werewolf said nothing, his eyes remaining focused on the road in front of them. Stiles frowned and leaned away. "Hey, did you hear me?"

"What?" Scott asked, tearing his eyes away from the road to glance at Stiles in bemusement.

Stiles huffed in annoyance, but he hadn't spent almost thirteen hours in a jeep, rambling utter, useless trivia to be put off now. "I said I _philia_ you. It's Greek for brotherly love."

"Oh," Scott replied, turning back to the road. "Thanks."

Stiles stared at Scott for a moment, before his eyes narrowed in askance. "That's it? That's all you have to say? I pour out my heart to you and that's all you can give me in reply?" He shook his head. "You're a cold-hearted man, Scott McCall. You're a cold-hearted man."

Scott finally broke and sighed loudly in annoyance, groaning as he rolled his eyes. "Ugh, Stiles – come on. You don't really care; besides, it sounds like you're saying you're fileting me – like you filet a fish."

"Well I'd like to inform you Scotty that I, in fact, _do_ care. I care very much. And it's phi _lia_ , not fi _let_ – you're pronouncing it wrong."

"Stiles, so help me, if you start going on about how to pronounce words, I'm going to –."

Scott was abruptly cut off when suddenly a loud bang sounded from the engine, rattling the jeep and startling both boys into silence. They both listened owl-eyed as the engine clunked and clattered; the jeep began to slow, gravel crunching beneath its tires until finally it rolled to a stop.

They sat in silence for a few, long moments, until Stiles finally found his voice and began frantically hitting Scott's arm. "Turn it off and start it again." Scott did so, twisting back the key before turning it back forward. The engine rolled over a few times but never kicked in, sounding instead like a dying animal with every roll. Scott tried a few more times, but to no success. Finally he stopped and sat back in his seat, staring in disbelief at the sudden – and awful – turn of events.

"No," Stiles whispered, unbuckling his seatbelt and throwing open the door. He stumbled out of the vehicle and ran to the front, wrenching the hood up as fast as he could. He immediately began to cough as smoke poured out from the engine and engulfed him in a cloud. He flung his hand to the side, waiting for the air to push the smoke away so he could get a look at the engine, but to his surprise the smoke didn't move. He flicked his hand again, trying to create a breeze, but again, nothing happened. A frown began to form between his eyes, but before he could really think about it Scott came up beside him, fanning the smoke with his hat to reveal a very black – and sorrowful – looking engine.

A look of resignation settled across the werewolf's face as he let out a heavy sigh. "Well, at least we made it to the mountains. We're only a few miles away from where we wanted to stop, so it's really not a big deal –."

"Not a big deal?" Stiles repeated, turning to Scott and raising his eyebrows in incredulity. "My jeep – my baby – she's dead! How – where are we going to put her? We can't just leave her on the side of the road, and even if we do, how are we going to get back? We passed the last town an hour ago! What are we –."

"Stiles, stop," Scott commanded, disappearing around the side of the vehicle. Stiles listened as the driver's door opened and their backpacks slid across the seat. A few moments later Scott reappeared, holding both large hiking-packs in his hands before setting Stiles' down in front of him. "Come on," he said, sliding into his own and fastening the buckles around his waist. "We'll push the jeep off into the trees and leave it there. Once we get to the Colorado Pack we'll make sure to ask someone to help fix it. They'll know this place better than we do and from what I've heard it's a pretty large pack, so someone will have to know something about fixing an engine."

Stiles huffed in annoyance, but nonetheless proceeded to lift his own pack and settle it around his shoulders. They pushed the jeep to the side of the road and, with a final shut of the doors, began their hike into the mountains.

* * *

It took them forty-five minutes to reach an open clearing along the side of one of the foothills, giving them their first real look into the famous range of the Rocky Mountains. It was an awe-inspiring sight that had left them both momentarily stunned, as they took in the wondrous scene of nature that lay before them.

Peaks upon peaks were scattered across the horizon near and far, some covered almost entirely with trees while others were barren, rugged rock. A river ran low in the valley beneath them and Stiles could swear he could even see a waterfall off into the distance. But for Stiles, aside from the simple visual beauty of the mountain terrain, there was something far more distracting that had taken his focus.

"Dude, Scott – do you smell that?" Stiles asked, taking in a deep breath of air.

Scott smiled, nodding his head. "Yeah, it smells pretty good."

"Is this just – is this just like, what clean air smells like, or what? Are we in some sort of clean-air bubble that you can only get in the mountains?"

"I read in that handbook we brought that the mountains have a distinct smell during the spring; obviously it smells really good, but I have to admit, it's hurting my nose a bit." Scott sniffed and rubbed at his nose absently, as though to exemplify the statement.

Stiles grinned. "I guess there can be downsides to being a werewolf, huh?"

Scott rolled his eyes, but couldn't keep the grin from forming on his own face. "Come on, let's keep going. It's already seven o'clock and the sun's starting to set; we need to find a place to set up camp before it gets completely dark."

So the two continued to walk, making their way down the mountainside and towards the river where they planned to stop for the night; they'd follow the river the next day until they were deep into the mountains, eventually arriving at the spot where Scott believed would be the best place to start sniffing out the pack.

They made it to the riverside by nightfall and quickly began setting up camp. They spent the first ten minutes arguing over the proper way to build a campfire, before moving on to argue over what meal they should make for supper. Eventually both campfire and meals were made, and both boys were temporarily appeased – that is, until, it came time to set up the beds.

Scott had just begun to unroll his sleeping bag on the ground by the fire when he noticed Stiles rummaging around in his pack, giving a small exclamation of triumph a moment later and lifting out a box. Scott watched with mild curiosity accompanied with an ever deepening frown, as Stiles broke through the plastic tape and finally lifted out what appeared to be a mass of plastic and wires. It was when Scott's eyes scanned the wording that he realised what Stiles had brought.

"Hey!" Scott said indignantly, leaning back from his sleeping bag. Stiles stopped what he was doing and looked over to him, eyebrows raised questioningly. Scott gave him a look of reproach, pointing at the tent held in Stiles' arms. "What are you doing? I thought we were going to sleep under the stars!"

Stiles' eyebrows narrowed together and he rolled his eyes before going back to setting up the tent. "I don't know what you're talking about, Scotty, but we made no such agreement."

"Stiles, seriously – we don't need a tent. We're supposed to be roughing it!"

"Roughing it?" Stiles scoffed, walking over to a small area of level ground. "Scott, I don't know if you've noticed, but we're in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, looking for a pack of werewolves with nothing else to guide us except your nose. I think that's roughing it enough. Besides," he said, a grin spreading across his face, "this isn't just any tent. Watch." Setting the tent down on the ground, Stiles fixed a few of the wires and coverings before quickly standing up to his feet and backing away. A moment later the wires and plastic snapped into place and the tent abruptly rose as though being inflated with air, until at last it stood proudly on the riverside, ready and waiting to be used.

Stiles looked over at Scott with his hands planted on his hips, a smug grin set across his face. Scott just rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Stiles, seriously – we don't need a tent. We'll be fine without it."

"Do what you will, Scott," Stiles replied, proceeding to unzip the door and throw his pack inside. "But this guy's gonna get a warm, good-night's sleep and wake-up happy." He glanced back at Scott, eyeing him for a moment before continuing. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You're part wolf, so it's probably like, instinct for you or something to sleep outside. But not everyone can be a werewolf, Scotty; so I'm going to go inside, make up my bed, and hit the hay. I'll see you in the morning."

Stiles set up his sleeping bag and got inside, shuffling around until he found a comfortable spot. After a moment he opened his eyes, staring out the unzipped-screen window towards the stars in the dark sky above him. He closed his eyes and took another breath, taking a moment to soak in the fact that he was here, surrounded by nothing but mountains and trees for as far as the eye could see. It was an isolation he hadn't realised he'd been wanting, that he hadn't realised he'd been needing; away from Beacon Hills, away from the supernatural, away from graduation. He felt a sense of peace and quiet that he didn't think he'd truly felt since before Scott became a werewolf, but it was one that he now realised he had sorely missed. They may be in the mountains just for business, but damn – if this wasn't the best way to do business, he didn't know what was.

A few minutes later Stiles could hear footsteps outside the tent and a moment later the sound of the door's zipper being undone could be heard. He kept his eyes firmly shut as he listened to Scott fumble his way into the tent, before the door was finally zipped back up and Scott settled into his own sleeping bag beside him, a huff of annoyance escaping his lips as he finally quieted down. A smile broke across Stiles' lips, but he said nothing.

A few more minutes passed and Stiles felt himself finally begin to fall away into sleep. Just as his mind began to wind down, however, a memory suddenly appeared behind his eyes, from when the jeep had broken down earlier that day. He frowned as he remembered trying to push the smoke away, but it wouldn't move. He'd thought it was weird at the time, but hadn't been able to really think about it. But now….

Tomorrow, Stiles thought, turning onto his side. Tomorrow he'd try out a few things, test a few things, make sure all was well. Everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

* * *

They woke early the next morning and quickly packed up their camp, not wanting to waste any time in finding the werewolf's territory, because although they'd assured everyone back home that they knew how to use a map, they were both very aware of just how far their map-reading abilities went. Which was to say, not very far at all.

Scott knew from the few times he'd spoken with the Colorado pack in the past that their home was somewhere north of the river, but only after reaching a range of three pointed peaks that were somewhere clustered together. Stiles told Scott that, considering all the mountain peaks were pointed, those were rather shoddy directions. Scott replied that they were the only directions they had and insisted that once they got within the vicinity of where they were, he'd be able to smell the rest of the way there. Stiles could only hope that he was right.

The day went by smoothly after that as they meandered their way along the river, looking for what they hoped were three distinct mountain-tops. With his senses filled with the sights and smells of the nature around him, Stiles quite forgot the incident with his powers back at the jeep. That is, at least until they reached the end of the river.

A large mountain rose up along the riverside in front of them, and Scott and Stiles could easily see as they approached that they were in trouble. The level bank that they had been following for the past four hours abruptly ended, disappearing into a forest of trees that ran along the riverbank and into the water, before heading almost straight up into the sky along the side of the mountain. Looking on the other side of the river they saw another mountain running along the bank as well, and Scott and Stiles knew that they were now going to have make a decision on where to go next.

"Well?" Stiles asked, pressing his thumbs against the straps of his pack as he peered up the side of the mountain until his eyes met the forest-covered top. The sun shone brightly through the clear-blue sky, illuminating the trees and shining off the water, warming Stiles' skin and melting the last bit of winter snow that still sat on top of some of the higher peaks. He searched for any way they could continue to walk alongside the river, but it was obvious that it was going to be impossible, unless the trees decided to somehow move out of the way for them….

As though reading his thoughts, Scott suddenly spun around, a cautious smile spreading across his face. "Hey," he said. "Would you be able to move the trees for us? Make a path so we can keep walking beside the river?"

Stiles frowned, scrunching his lips together as he stared at the trees, trying to figure out if what Scott was suggesting was possible. He'd done a lot of work with trees over the past six months, but that had always involved moving the branches and making them grow – not physically uprooting them and making them walk like Ents. Scott had told him he'd done it before, that the trees had moved out of his way when they were running from the shack that Givens had tied them up in, but Stiles didn't remembered doing it and he wasn't entirely certain he could do it now.

His thoughts suddenly went back to the jeep and Stiles raised his hand, holding it out in front of him as he grasped onto the air and wove it through his fingers in a gentle breeze. He stared for a moment, his brows knitting together in slight confusion. The Air was working fine now, so why hadn't it been working before…?

"Well?" Scott asked, interrupting his thoughts. Stiles looked up to see Scott staring at him, an eyebrow raised expectantly. "Do you think you can do it?"

Stiles looked past Scott's shoulder to the mountain and finally shook his head. "No," he answered. "Even if I could move the trees, the mountain's just way too steep. We'd be falling down every time we took a step; it's better if we just find another way."

Scott sighed but nodded his head, looking back at the trees behind him. "Yeah, you're right," he said. He took a step back and studied the area around them, sniffing a few times before finally motioning to the forest beside them. "Let's just go through the trees and follow the base of the mountain until we reach the other side; I can smell a clearing about a mile away from here. We'll just have to remember where we are and keep skirting as close to the river for as long as we can. Do you have the map?"

Stiles waved the folded paper in his hand and Scott nodded, his natural instincts as alpha taking over. "Great. Let's get going."

* * *

Sure enough, after walking for just under a mile through the forest along the edge of the mountain, they arrived at an open clearing with just a few, sparse trees that went for miles in either direction – the perfect path. After handing the map to Scott to look at, Stiles took a few steps forward, glancing around as he took in the new sights. Intending to use the brief respite to take a bathroom break, Stiles walked farther down along the mountain-side before following the curve of the treeline and turning around the corner. Like slamming into a wall, Stiles suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

It was like an ice-cold wind had suddenly permeated every bone of his body and Stiles suddenly found himself frozen where he stood. His chest tightened and he felt as though his lungs were being squeezed, the air catching in his throat and leaving him unable to move. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise and like a switch being flicked on, all his senses suddenly were on high alert.

There was something out there. There was something nearby, something close. It was like a heavy presence that hung like a thick blanket throughout the air, both everywhere yet nowhere. It was suffocating, feeling as though at any moment it would jump out and appear in front of him, as though it were about to attack at any moment –

As quickly as it had began it disappeared, and Stiles was left feeling nothing but the warmth of the sun and the gentle, natural breeze of the forest around him. He frowned, staring into the distance, his eyes wide as he tried to figure out what it was that had just happened. After a few minutes of silence he blinked, a sense of comfort suddenly washing over him, leaving him feeling calm and at ease. Whatever danger had been there – if there had been any at all – was now gone.

After he finished his business, Stiles made his way back out of the trees, intending to cast out his senses into the Earth in order to see if anything was really there. He made it to the edge of the treeline, his eyes still looking off into the distance for anything amiss, before he finally closed his eyes and took hold of the Earth.

There was complete silence for a moment before Stiles opened his eyes back up, a frown of confusion creasing between his brows. For some reason, when he'd reached for the Earth, it hadn't responded. Almost… almost like it wasn't there at all.

He closed his eyes once more, trying again to reach into that place deep within his body and to grab hold of the element of Earth that he knew was there, so that he could feel across the trees and into the mountains, and maybe see what it was that had moved him so strongly.

Just as before, however, the Earth refused to react to his pull and though he could feel it sitting deep within himself, he was unable to reach it. Stiles opened his eyes once more with huff of frustration, the confusion between his brows deepening into that of annoyance. What the heck was going on?

Stiles walked forward a few more feet until at last he sighed, giving up. He made to turn to head back to Scott, when suddenly something caught in the corner of his eye and he froze. His eyes widened in shock as he took in what lay before him, before shock gave way to realisation, and realisation finally gave way to thrilling excitement.

 _"_ _SCOTT!"_

Scott looked up from his map at the sound of Stiles' voice, looking around for where Stiles had gone. He immediately latched onto his scent and followed it with haste, listening to Stiles as he called his name again, before he finally came around the corner of the trees and saw –

Holy shit.

Nestled between the corner of the mountain and the edge of the trees stood an old, antique steam-train. It was covered with old leaves and fallen branches, looking as though it hadn't been touched in years. The front of the train – the engine – sat a number of feet down what Scott could now see as a railroad, followed behind by four closed-in carriages; it looked exactly as though it had come straight from a picture of the early 1900s and Scott felt as though they had just stumbled upon a chest filled with treasure.

"Dude, Scott – look at this!" Stiles exclaimed, staring up at the steam-engine in awe. He waved his arm, motioning towards it with unbridled enthusiasm. "This seriously has to be the coolest thing I've ever seen. I mean, this thing has to be, like – a hundred years old!"

Scott watched, following Stiles up to the stairs at the back of the train that led into the carriage. Though Stiles had always been more of a history nerd than he was, he could easily appreciate just how cool it was to find an old abandoned steam-train in the mountains.

Stiles pulled himself onto the stairs and made his way into what he could now see was an old dining car. He grinned as he walked up along the aisle, running his hands over the dust-covered seats and bannisters. Faded-white tablecloths still covered the tables and to his surprise, plates and glasses did, too. Antique-supports lined the aisle and Stiles walked between them until he reached the door that opened to the outside, and stepping over the latch that bound the two cars together, he opened the next door and proceeded to walk through. The next car was a sleeping car; it was filled with old, twine-chairs pushed against the sides and a few wooden-beds hung folded-down along the walls, still fitted with their mattresses, bedsheets, and pillows. It were as though someone had just parked the train one day and forgot where it was.

They continued to explore the rest of the train until they made it to the engine. Two seats sat along the edges, giving a view through the windows and to the front of the train. What was presumably the boiler stood between the two seats, its large gate still open and a pile of coal laying a few feet beside it. It was, by far, the coolest thing either of them had ever seen.

They took a few pictures with their cellphones to prove to everyone back home what they had seen, poking around for a bit longer before finally agreeing that it was time to go. They decided to follow the tracks in the assumption that they probably followed along the river; at the very least they would eventually lead somewhere, should they end up getting lost.

They walked for another hour and a half, eventually discussing how long they should keep going before stopping for lunch. The once clear-blue sky was now covered with ever-darkening clouds, blocking out the sun and cooling the mountain air. Scott could smell the rain that would soon arrive and he began looking for the nearest trees or overhang from which they could take shelter.

Stiles was also keeping his eyes open as he continued to walk, looking for the best place to stop to eat and not get soaked at the same time, when he began to notice the tracks in front of them were curving and that farther ahead they split into two. Frowning, he jogged a bit faster until he reached an old switch-lever, which was currently leaning to the side. He glanced at the tracks that led to the left of them and, presumably, continued its path along the river, before he turned and followed the tracks that turned to the right.

The tracks led up a smaller hill along the side of a much larger mountain, whose top had now disappeared into the clouds above them. Stiles squinted as he gazed further into the distance, his eye catching what looked like a small house leading into the side of the mountain. By now the air had started to mist and Stiles could feel drops of rain landing on his head and shoulders; knowing this was probably the best place to stop if they didn't want to get soaked, Stiles motioned for Scott to follow him and they quickly made their way up the side of the mountain. When they arrived at the end of the tracks, Stiles realised that what he had seen was not a house or a shack, but instead it was a –

"It's a mine," Scott voiced, coming up behind him.

And it was. The opening of the mine looked as though it had once been boarded up, the shadows of the boards still visible on the doors, but for whatever reason the blockades had been removed – luckily for them. Words engraved into stone stood above the of the doors, revealing the name of the mine that lay beneath it: _Hillview Mine est. 1901._ Well, Stiles thought, considering they were about to get drenched in water, this was about as good a shelter as any.

The rain was falling harder now and quickly plastering Stiles' hair to his head. He waited as Scott went forward and grabbed the edge of the door, easily pulling it open with his werewolf strength. They paused for a moment, giving each other one last look before taking their first few, tentative steps inside. Scott had already dug out his flashlight and turned it on, shining its light on the cavern-walls rock-floor around them.

It was much colder, even just a few steps into the mine, than it was outside. They walked a few feet farther in until finally they stopped and took off their packs, setting them on the ground with a thud. Scott began rummaging around in his pack for their lunch, while Stiles watched the rain now fall in sheets outside the mine's entrance. His eyes began to roam across the ceiling until they landed on a beam, which ran alongside the wall in an angle, giving the illusion that he was standing in a tilted room. He looked past the beams and into the darkness that lay beyond, looking like an abyss about to suck them into oblivion.

Stiles shivered and turned back to face the dampened-light shining in from the mine's entrance, glad to see that Scott was almost done setting up their lunch.

That was when he heard it.

The sound of rock and stone crunching beneath feet came from the entrance and Stiles looked up, his eyes immediately narrowing and his ears straining as he searched for the source of the noise. Everything was silent for a moment, including Scott, who had also stopped what he was doing to see what was going on.

A full-minute passed before the sound came again, this time coming from much closer than before. Stiles could feel his muscles tense and he took a step back, sparing a brief second to glance back at Scott. Scott was still crouched on the ground but he was frowning at the entrance, his body slowly shifting into a defensive position. He caught Stiles' eye and they both looked back outside as he slowly rose to his feet.

When nothing happened, Stiles quietly spoke. "Can you smell anything?" he asked, never taking his eyes off the entrance.

Scott shook his head. "No," he whispered.

They waited a few more minutes, ears straining to hear any more noise from outside, but they couldn't hear a thing. Suddenly Scott jerked, as though he'd been slapped, his eyes widening before narrowing together in a glare. "Bear," he said, and he quickly extended his claws as he moved to stand in front of Stiles.

Stiles' eyes widened and he took a step back. He reached for the Air, about to grab hold when suddenly a loud roar tore through the cavern, echoing off the walls and causing both of them to jump with a vicious start. A shadow loomed in the entrance and Scott and Stiles continued to step back further into the mine, their hands raised by their sides and waiting to fight.

Stiles couldn't believe it; they'd laughed at Lydia's concern that they'd run into animals, they'd scoffed at her as though she were an overly concerned parent and now –

The ground beneath Stiles' feet suddenly began to vibrate before beginning to shake; both Stiles and Scott blinked, their guards momentarily faltering as they looked up and around, trying to figure out what was going on and where the noise was coming from.

A distant roar suddenly met their ears, growing louder and louder as the shaking of the mountain increased, until they began to see rocks falling in front of the mine's entrance, clattering against the stone as they began to gather overtop one another. With a terrifying start, they realised what was happening.

Without waiting another second Stiles flung his hands to the side and crashed them against the rock wall, grabbing hold of the Earth and reaching into the mountain, grasping at the falling rocks and forcing them to stop….

But they didn't. They didn't stop.

Stiles stared in wide-eyed disbelief as the roar of the rockslide deafened their ears and the rocks began to gather in greater number at the mine's entrance, until the rocks turned to boulders, continuously landing on top of one another and reaching closer and closer to the top, until they were suddenly shrouded in darkness. The mountain continued to shake for a few more moments until at last it came to a stop, leaving Stiles and Scott standing completely alone in the darkness.

They were blocked in.

The dust from the rocks and floor met Stiles' nose and he began to cough, covering his face with his sleeve as he struggled for air. He could hear Scott moving behind him and a moment later a beam of light broke through the darkness, shining through the dust and onto the mountain of boulders that now lay before them.

Scott quickly came up beside him, grabbing his arm and turning him to meet his eye. "Stiles, are you okay?!" he nearly yelled, the roar of the slide still ringing in both their ears.

"I'm fine," Stiles managed to reply, his eyes still locked on the rocks in front of them. He'd tried to stop it, he'd tried to grab onto the earth and bring them to a halt, to at least throw them in another direction, but they hadn't – he hadn't –

Stiles broke away from Scott and stumbled forward, tripping over stray stones until he reached the pile of rocks. He stared at them for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily with faltering breaths, until at last he reached out his hands and splayed his fingers, grasping onto the Earth and demanding for the rocks to move. He waited a few moments, as though time would make the rocks decide to listen, but just as before, nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

Scott came up beside Stiles, roaming his flashlight over the blockade, trying to find a spot that wasn't blocked off with rocks. There wasn't. After a moment Scott looked at Stiles, a concerned, fearful frown furrowing between his brows. "Stiles, can… are you able to –."

Stiles took a deep breath and adjusted his arms, closing his eyes as he tried again to pull at the rocks, to lift them, to lift just _one_ of them, so they could start digging their way out of here and get out of this place.

Stiles stayed in the same position for nearly five minutes, his breath catching in his throat as his heart began to race, as with every passing second the Earth continued to refuse his grip. He knew it was there, he could feel it just beneath the surface, could feel it deep within his sternum just as he always had, but for some reason it just wouldn't move – it just kept slipping through his fingers, it kept evading his grip.

Trying a different tactic, Stiles instead began reaching for the Air. The Air was the first element he'd learned, the first that he'd gained control over. It was his strongest element, so surely it would be able to….

Stiles had expected to at least grab onto the air, to at least feel it in the palm of his hand like he had earlier that day, but this time it didn't. This time it refused to meet his call, it refused to let him grab hold, to allow itself to be moved and manipulated. It were as though its power had somehow been turned off, and nothing Stiles could do would turn it back on again.

It wasn't until he felt Scott's hand on his shoulder that Stiles realised his arms and whole body were shaking, jerking under the strain of his efforts to use the elements to free them. His arms remained where they were, raised in the air, but his body slowly began to still, as in stunned shock reality began to set in.

"I can't," Stiles started, his eyes wide in utter incredulity. "I can't do it. I can't move them. The Earth, the Air… they won't respond. I can't use them." He turned to Scott, wide, fear-filled eyes meeting his own, his voice steeped in stunned disbelief. "We're stuck. I can't get us out."

They were trapped.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles stared at the rocks and boulders that filled the front entrance of the mine, unable to fully believe what had just happened. He tried once more to lift the rocks and push them out, but just as it had been for the past ten minutes, his powers refused to respond. After another five minutes of stunned silence, Stiles found a flashlight being shoved into his arms as Scott proceeded to move forward and attempt to remove the boulders by hand. He managed to move the first few out of the way but faltered when he reached the larger ones at the back, his efforts were further inhibited by the rocks that would fall as the pile shifted every few seconds. Eventually, after part of the heap gave way and nearly fell on top of him, Scott gave up.

For the next half hour they tried to figure out what to do, attempting every so often to try and dig their way out, but giving up quicker and quicker each time. Scott tried to ignore the heat of fear that was growing at the back of his neck, but then his focus would instead go to the loud beating of Stiles' heart, which was thrumming faster and faster with every passing minute. He glanced at Stiles as they were digging, wondering why his powers hadn't worked, why he hadn't been able to stop the mountain from falling above them; but at the sight of Stiles' wide and terrified eyes, he knew that his friend was as at much a loss as him.

After another twenty minutes Scott took a final step back and stared up at the rocks, acceptance finally taking root that they were well and truly trapped. "Forget it," he said, as Stiles continued to pull at the rocks. When he didn't stop, Scott walked forward and grabbed his arm, wrenching him back. "Stiles, I said stop!"

Stiles tore himself from Scott's grip and stepped away, glaring at him viciously. "Well what the hell are we supposed to do then?! The entire mountain just fell on us –."

"We'll find another way out!"

Stiles stared at him incredulously. "Find another way out? Are you insane?! Scott, if you haven't noticed, we're in a mine! A mine that was abandoned who-knows how long ago, a mine that doesn't exactly have any lights or signs, so how the hell are we going to be able to find our way out –."

"We have our flashlights and we have our cellphones if we need them, so we'll be fine –."

Stiles shook his head, backing away. He could feel the panic that had been rising in his chest start to overflow and he turned, staring into the complete darkness where he knew the rest of the tunnel lay, leading deep into the mountain and far beneath the ground – and who knew where else. "We'll get lost," he said, continuing to shake his head. He turned back to Scott. "Do you know how many tunnels there are in mines? It's like an underground city. It's like the fuckin' catacombs. And since the mine's been abandoned, it probably means there are tons of tunnels and rooms that are collapsed, which means we'll get stuck, which means we'll _die_. There's no – there's no way we'll be able to find another way out. There's none, and now –."

"Stiles." Scott's voice was strong and firm, laden with the commanding tone of an alpha taking charge. He grabbed Stiles' arm and forced him to look him in the eye, and once he did he didn't let him go. They simply stared at each other for a few moments, before Scott finally spoke. "Stiles, we're going to get out. I –."

"No, we won't, Scott. We're going to –."

Scott tightened his grip on Stiles' arm and give him a firm shake, forcing him into silence. "Stiles. Stiles, I am a werewolf and you are an elemental. Maybe if we were normal human beings, we would be stuck down here. But we're not. My nose and sense of direction are better than any human's, and I can already smell the difference between the clean and the old air; we'll get out, Stiles. I swear we will. But I can't find another way out if you refuse to calm down and follow me. So I need you to calm and stop freaking out – okay?"

Stiles stared at Scott for a long moment, taking in all that he'd said, before finally his heartbeat began to slow and the rapid breaths he hadn't realised he'd been taking, began to ease. After a minute he closed his eyes and nodded his head.

Scott also gave a nod of assent and looked around for a moment, before finding his bag a few feet away and picking it up. He slung it over his shoulder and grabbed Stiles', handing it to him. "Let's get going. The sooner we start looking for a way out, the sooner we'll find it."

Stiles watched as Scott began walking down into the darkness, unable to fully comprehend just how calm and focused his friend was. He was so collected, he was so at ease, that Stiles couldn't help but wonder at how much the bite three years ago had changed him; had turned him from a nervous, anxious, asthma-afflicted boy into a strong, confident, determined leader. It was inspiring, but at the same time it was a stark portrayal of just how much he had changed. How they both had changed.

Stiles adjusted the straps of the bag over his shoulder, glancing back at the rock pile one last time before looking down at his hands, his bare fingers clenching into fists. With a final look back, he turned and made his way after Scott, following him into the abyss.

* * *

Stiles had never would have thought of himself as claustrophobic; he had too much energy, was susceptible to panic attacks, and now couldn't handle lying on a bed, but the feeling of walls pressing in on him was completely foreign – until now.

The mine was cold, much colder than it had been outside – even in the rain and high elevation. The walls were both jagged and smooth, glistening with water that ran down its sides in gentle streams. A drop of water landed on Stiles' forehead and he looked up, his eyes catching the multi-coloured granite that adorned the mine's ceiling. His eyes fell back down to Scott who was leading the way in front of him, his flashlight shining a path through the tunnel, each foot's stride purposeful and strong; he was every bit the alpha that had turned into, every bit the leader that he had striven to be. Stiles wished he were as calm and determined as Scott was, but at the moment he felt nothing could be more impossible.

Glancing at his hands, Stiles' thoughts remained fastened to what had happened back at the entrance when the landslide had destroyed it; how his powers had failed him and how – though he had tried so hard – he wasn't able to stop the slide or get them out. He could feel the elements sitting just beneath his skin, just beneath the surface – but nothing he could do would bring them out. After six months of always having them in the palm of his hands and whispering around the ankles of his feet, their sudden absence was both stark and unnerving; but more than that – it was terrifying.

Stiles clenched his fists together, fighting the urge to give into the panic that was steadily rising in his chest. It wouldn't do any good to panic now, not when the blocked-entrance was already long behind them and they were now deep within the mountain and its caverns. Knowing that they were beneath the earth, essentially lost, and relying on nothing but Scott's nose and instincts to get them out, made the darkness and the cold all the more suffocating; and Stiles fought to keep his head level and each foot walking in front of the other.

They were walking in silence for what had to have been nearly an hour – they'd been keeping their phones off since they began the trip, wanting to use them only for emergencies, for which this certainly was, but Stiles knew enough of mountains to know that they would never receive a signal here – until they finally came to the first fork in the road; except rather than the tunnel splitting off into two directions, it split into four.

They stood in silence for a few moments as Scott shone his light down each path, trying to determine which one to take. Stiles stood beside him, his shoulders slightly hunched inward as he waited for Scott – and hopefully Scott's nose – to make up his mind. Finally, after much sniffing at each path's entrance, Scott stepped forward and led them into the tunnel on the far right. Stiles wanted to ask him if everything was going all right, if he had a good track on the air and that he was confident it was leading them in the right direction; but the fear of where they were, the embarrassment of his powers having failed, and what the consequences of it all would be, kept his mouth firmly shut.

They continued walking down the tunnel for a long while, their feet slapping against the wet stone of the floor, listening to the sounds of water as it continually fell from the ceiling and ran down the walls. They had just been passing an opening that led down into another part of the mine when he heard it.

A deep moan, starting low then increasing in volume, rose from somewhere deep in the tunnel to their left, echoing off the walls and vibrating through the water until it slowly began to fade. Rock shifted in the darkness and clattered to the ground, before quickly falling into silence.

Stiles was completely still, his body frozen in place as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He stared down the tunnel with wide eyes, his brows narrowed in confusion as he tried to calm his now rapidly-beating heart. He heard Scott move across the floor until he was beside him, his flashlight shining down into the offshoot tunnel, trying to see if anything was there; but the light was quickly swallowed up by the darkness and revealed nothing. "Did you hear that?" he asked, though the question was meant more to break the silence than seriously expect an answer.

Stiles swallowed, his jaw clenching as he gripped his fingers tightly around the straps of his backpack. "It was nothing," he said, his words meant just as much for his sake as for Scott's. "There are tons of tunnels and rooms in this mountain; I told you, it's like an underground city. It was the wind, nothing more." He glanced at Scott's face, whose own jaw was also clenched tightly and his eyes narrowed in a calculating and defensive appearance. They stayed standing there for a few more minutes, their ears straining to hear if the noise was coming again, but finally Stiles gently pushed against Scott's arm, shaking his head. "Let's go," he said. Scott held his flashlight in place for only a few moments longer before nodding in agreement and turning back to walk down the hall once more.

Stiles didn't know how much time had passed when he began to feel the edges of exhaustion creep up on him, pulling at his eyes and weighing on his muscles until he was certain he was going to collapse. Though they'd agreed to not use their phones unless they had to, Stiles figured this was as much of an emergency as they'd ever get into; so reaching behind him into the slot that held his cell, he searched around until he finally found his phone and pulled it out. He pressed the power-button, waiting for the screen to light up, but nothing happened. Frowning, he pressed it again – but again, the phone remained black. It was only when he ran his fingers over the front that he felt it – the undeniable ridges and lines of a very shattered and broken screen. He swore under his breath, unable to believe his luck.

Scott turned his head slightly in front of him, but didn't stop walking. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"My phone's broken," Stiles replied, trying again to turn it on and resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. "It must… it must have somehow gotten hit by the rocks during the landslide and I didn't realise it. Shit." He clenched the phone in his fist and shook it a few times in anger before stuffing it back in his bag, the desire to know what time it was even stronger than before. Finally he ventured forward and asked Scott, "Hey, do you know what time it is?"

"No," Scott said, but Stiles could tell he was thinking, probably using his wolf-instincts to determine if it was night or day. After a moment he continued, "It's been at least five hours I'm pretty sure, maybe six, so it has to be the late afternoon or evening."

Stiles took a breath, finally asking the question he'd been avoiding for the past two hours. "Scott, you know where you're going, right? You can smell the air? We're not just walking deeper into what's going to become our tomb?"

"No Stiles," Scott answered starkly . "I can seriously smell the clean air; it's like… it's like a perfect trail, it never stops. The only explanation is that there's an opening somewhere, letting it in. We'll find it, I'm sure of it. So just don't…." He trailed off and didn't continue.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at the unspoken insinuation. "What?" he asked, taking a few steps closer to Scott, wincing as he did. Damn, did his legs ever ache. "Don't what, Scott? Don't get crazy? Don't freak out? Why would you think I'd freak out? Because we're trapped in an old abandoned mine? Because we're trying to find a way out and we don't even know where we're going? Why the hell would I freak out about _that?!_ "

Scott let out a sigh of frustration and came to a stop, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead. His hand shook as he moved it and Stiles began to wonder if maybe the outward display of confidence wasn't as strong as it appeared to be. "No, Stiles, that's not what I meant…."

A stab of anger and embarrassment hit Stiles square in the chest as he started to imagine just what Scott was talking about. After a few moments, he finally found his voice. "I don't know what's going on," he said, trying to slow the quickly-beating thrum of his heart. "With my powers. I don't know why they didn't work, why I couldn't stop the rocks from falling –."

"Stiles, that's not – I'm not blaming you!" Scott said, turning around to face his friend. The lines were tight across his face and sweat glistened across his forehead, a marker of just how much they had been walking and how stressful the situation they were in really was. "Seriously! I'm saying that I know you, and I know that this entire time we've been walking that that's all you've been thinking about! So you weren't able to stop the landslide, that's fine – we'll still make it out and –."

"My powers won't work, Scott! I've been trying the entire time we've been walking to use them, to do anything with them, but they won't respond! Nothing I do will make them –."

A loud scream suddenly tore through the tunnel from behind them, cutting off their argument and locking every bone of their bodies into place. A rush of wind roared through the tunnel, the noise growing louder and louder until suddenly it was on top of them, crashing into their sides and nearly knocking them off their feet. The scream sounded again, closer this time, followed by the sounds of falling rock as it rolled across the walls and landed on the floor. The scream was coming closer and closer with every passing second, and on instinct both boys grabbed each other's arms and pushed the other forward as they began running as fast as they could down the mine.

The ear-piercing scream came a third time, pushing the boys faster and faster as they ran blindly down the tunnel, the flashlight in Scott's hands stuttering back and forth, giving them the barest glimpse of the road that was quickly coming up to meet them. As the scream and wind pursued them, they suddenly arrived at a break-off as the tunnel split into two. Without a moment's hesitation, Scott grabbed Stiles' arm and led him to the left. They continued to run, lungs heaving as they fought for breath against the rapid-beating of their hearts. Stiles was vaguely aware of the walls widening beside him, of the slanted beams above them evening out and the cavern's stone growing smooth, when without warning the wind and the scream stopped, lasting only a few seconds longer as it faded into the darkness.

Scott and Stiles nearly fell over their feet as they came to a stop, their chests heaving as they sucked in the air, their hearts hammering painfully in their chests as the adrenaline and fear coursing through their bodies began to slow down. Stiles swallowed, staring wide-eyed into the darkness they had just escaped from. "What the hell was that?!" he nearly shouted, the unexpected shock still running through his veins.

"I don't – I don't know," Scott replied. After a moment he lifted the flashlight, the beam shaking ever-so-slightly as it shone into the darkness. Nothing could be seen, however, and the only sounds to be heard was the dripping of water onto the cold, stone floor.

Stiles continued, as though Scott hadn't spoke. "I mean, was that – was that an actual scream, or… or was it just the wind? Could it have been just the wind? I mean, we're surrounded by tunnels with all kinds of airflow, so it's possible, right?" When Scott didn't answer, Stiles turned his head towards him. "Right?!"

Scott took a deep breath, straightening his back and tightening his grip on his flashlight. Stiles could see his jaw clench and his eyes darken as he glanced once at Stiles before turning back around. "Let's keep going," he said, starting to walk away.

Stiles stared at him incredulously for a moment, before quickly running after him. "Scott, what – what do you think that was?"

"I don't know."

"A person screams like they're being murdered and a gale-force wind blows through, and all you can say is 'you don't know'?! Don't you think we should at least find ou –."

"Find out how, Stiles?!" Scott said, abruptly coming to a halt and spinning around, shining his light in Stiles' face. "We're trapped in a mountain and we don't know where any of these tunnels lead, so how exactly do you think we're supposed to find out what that was?" He paused, staring Stiles straight in the eye for a few, heavy moments, before the fear in his chest began to abate and the tension around his eyes began to ease. They stared at each other for a few moments longer, acknowledging both their own and each other's fear over what had just happened, before Scott's lips pressed into a thin line and he turned away. "All we need to focus on right now is getting out of here," he said, starting to walk once more down the wide, expansive hall and into the darkness.

Something was off. Whether it was the residual fear from what had just happened or whether it was something else entirely, Stiles didn't know – but something wasn't right; something wasn't right at all.

Adjusting the straps on his shoulders, Stiles forced his fear down, knowing that now, more than ever, they needed to get out.

Despite the ache and pain that was now coursing through both their bodies, Scott and Stiles continued to walk through the tunnels of the mine for what had to have been another hour, at least. It wasn't until they were both fighting off yawns and blinking away tears that Scott finally came to a stop.

The tunnel continued on, but an alcove in the stone wall offered a small shelter from the endless road of wooden-beams and rock. Scott dropped his bag on the ground and Stiles came up behind him, doing the same. With heavy grunts and sighs, both boys lowered themselves to the ground, leaning their backs against the stone wall. The cold seeped quickly into Stiles' skin, sending a shiver through his already tired and aching body. He unpacked his sleeping-bag and gladly wrapped it around himself, searching for as much warmth as he could. He shut his eyes tight and wrapped his arms around himself, wishing that when he opened them, this would all be just a terrible dream.

He suddenly felt the bag being lifted and Stiles opened his eyes to see Scott shifting in beside him, getting as comfortable as he could before wrapping the bag back around them. Stiles was about to open his mouth and ask what he was doing, when suddenly Scott's arm touched his and like a furnace being turned on, he immediately began to warm.

Stiles was unable to stop a small smile from tugging at his lips, as he found himself never having been more thankful for Scott's werewolf-traits than he was now. After a few minutes of silence, Stiles finally spoke. "I didn't exactly think that this was how we were going to spend our spring break," he said, his voice muffled beneath the blanket and his arms. "I wouldn't have come, if I'd known this was what you had planned."

"Yeah, well – I didn't think 'being trapped in a mountain' would be very enticing on the brochure."

Stiles smiled, shifting as he tried to find a comfortable spot against the curve of the wall. After a few moments he stilled and leaned his head back, his body more than ready to fall asleep. He noticed Scott had grown still beside him, and he glanced over at his friend to see him staring intently at the flashlight in his hands. Stiles was about to ask what was wrong, when Scott spoke. "I better… I better turn this off, then," he said quietly.

Stiles bit his lip, his eyes going to the beam of light that lit up the space around them, knowing they had to preserve the battery, but unable to stop the stab of fear that pulsed in his chest at the thought of it going off. Hunching slightly in on himself, Stiles finally whispered, "Do it."

He listened as Scott took a deep breath and then without warning the flashlight clicked, and they were enveloped in darkness.

It was a darkness Stiles had never experienced before in his life. He thought he'd seen darkness before, when running through the woods at night or closing the curtains on his window, but that darkness was nothing compared to this. This darkness was all-encompassing, so completely devoid of light that it almost hurt. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles fought down the wave of fear that was threatening to rise and instinctively moved closer to Scott, who in turn moved closer to him.

After a few minutes of silence, save for the sound of dripping water and the far-off whisper of wind drifting through the tunnels, Scott spoke. "We're going to get out of here Stiles," he said quietly. "I promise. We'll find a way out."

Stiles said nothing in reply, but let himself relax against Scott's body as sleep began to take him. He could only hope that, the next time they woke, Scott would be proven right.

But Stiles had never been that optimistic.

* * *

The next day began as the previous had ended – surrounded by cold and darkness. They sifted through their bags for food, only to realise that at some point in all the commotion of the past twenty-four hours Scott's bag had ripped, causing him to lose nearly all the packed-lunches they'd brought and any other food meant for what should have been just a few-days' journey. Luckily they still had a few lunches in Stiles' bag and they both still had extra bottles of water, so as long as they got out soon, they'd be all right.

As long as they got out.

They walked for hours through the tunnel with nothing but the sound of the dripping water and their feet hitting the stone floor. Every so often one of them would try to start up a conversation, but their words and interest would quickly die away, swallowed up by the darkness that was always present around them. Stiles tried to forget the chilling moans and bloodcurdling scream from the day before, pushing them to the back of his mind as though they'd never happened, as though they were just frightening phenomena that naturally occurred in the deep recesses of a mine; but as the day wore on the sounds of errant winds could be heard drifting through the tunnel, accompanied by a deep, low groan, as though someone, somewhere, were in the midst of dying.

Of course, that was impossible. They were in the middle of a mountain, in a mine that had been abandoned years ago. It was just the wind. It had to be.

They stopped a couple times to eat, but otherwise they kept ardently walking forward. Stiles would ask every few hours if Scott still had the scent and every time Scott would answer that he did, never giving any hint that he was lying or uncertain. So tentatively, Stiles tried to let himself feel hope; he tried to let himself feel optimistic. But as the day came to an end and it became evident that they needed to sleep – without yet having found an exit – that shaky hope began to crumble.

It was on the third day that Scott began to reveal his own fear and concern. He assured Stiles that he still had the scent, that it was as plain as day that what he was smelling was clean air, and that it was leading closer and closer to what had to be an exit or at least a hole in the mountain, but he admitted that he couldn't understand why they hadn't reached it yet. Stiles looked in his bag, counting the quantity of food and water they had left, and calculating just how much longer they'd be able to stay down here before they ran out. Stiles frowned, determining just how much they'd be able to ration a day and how long they could make that last; that Scott had lost his supply of the food didn't help, but Stiles figured that, if they were careful, they could maybe last at least three-more days.

If they were careful.

It was only when they'd been walking for a few hours that a thought suddenly entered Stiles' mind and he looked up, wondering why he hadn't realised it before. "Hey Scott?" Stiles called from behind, lines creasing between his brows as he looked around.

"Yeah?"

"When was the last time we saw another tunnel? Like, when was the last time we saw a doorway into a side-room, or the tunnel branch off into two? Usually… usually mines are full of them. That's how they're made; you can't have a city if the roads don't connect to each other."

Scott was silent for a moment, before finally saying, "I don't know."

"And these walls," Stiles continued, his mind suddenly catching up to all that he had been seeing, but amongst the fear and panic, hadn't noticed. "They're really big; and the walls are really smooth. I can understand the entrance of a mine being like that, but by now they should be getting smaller, not bigger." Scott didn't reply, but now that he had started, Stiles found he couldn't stop. The silence of the past two-and-a-half days had been as suffocating for him as the darkness. "And don't you hear those moans? I know we agreed that it's most likely just the wind, but seriously – it's creepy as hell."

"Stiles," Scott said, his voice edged with a sigh, "don't worry about it. We can think about it later, but for now… for now let's just focus on getting out, okay?"

Stiles kept his mouth shut, but now that the thoughts had gone through his mind, he found he couldn't stop thinking about how true they were. They were in an abandoned mine; by now they should have run into cave-ins, or see the support-beams breaking and rotting away. But they weren't; instead it was like these tunnels had just been made yesterday, as though they hadn't changed one bit since they'd last been used. And that wasn't right; that wasn't normal.

Eventually they stopped for a break and Scott handed Stiles the flashlight, walking back down the tunnel to relieve himself. Stiles sighed, casting the light across the never-ending tunnel in front of them, waiting for Scott to return. As he gazed through the darkness, however, he noticed something on the floor far into the distance. He frowned, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks, if the constant darkness broken only by a single light was finally affecting his vision. Scott came up behind him as he focused the light on the object, trying to figure out what it was. "What are you looking at?" Scott asked, adjusting his pack as he lifted it back onto his shoulders.

"I don't know," Stiles replied. "But I guess we'll find out soon."

They walked for a few more minutes until they finally came to what was lying in their path. As they drew closer, Stiles' eyes quickly began to make out what it was and he halted for a brief moment, before taking the last few steps forward and finally coming to a stop.

It was a body.

Both Stiles and Scott stared at it for a long moment, neither saying a word as Stiles cast the light over the person; or, more precisely – the corpse.

It was stretched out across the ground, its head laying on its arm as its hands reached out towards the place from where they'd just come. It was mostly skeleton now, save for what appeared to be a few tufts of hair matted against its skull. An old, weathered linen-jacket was still wrapped around its body, along with very old-looking, hole-filled jeans adorning its legs. Its head was turned slightly towards Scott and Stiles, its mouth hanging open, as though in a silent scream.

After a few minutes of silence Scott spoke, pushing Stiles forward and past the body, rebutting that which he already knew Stiles was thinking. "Don't look at it, Stiles. That's not going to be us."

Stiles shook his head, unable to believe what they were seeing. "He was trying to escape, Scott – look at him! He was stuck in here, just like we are, and he wasn't able to get out –."

Suddenly the flashlight in Stiles' hand went off and they were immediately shrouded in darkness. Both boys jumped and Stiles cursed, as he hastily shook the light and tried to click it back on. It didn't work. Stiles fought the feeling of suffocation that was squeezing at his chest as fear and adrenaline started to seep into his veins, and quickly told Scott to dig into his backpack and pull out the second – and last – flashlight that they had.

When Scott clicked it on, it took them a moment to realise what was different. When they did, however, the uneasy feeling that Stiles had felt for the past day returned tenfold and the fear that had been bubbling beneath the surface suddenly roared loudly to life – because the body was gone.

"Scott," Stiles said, backing away from the place where the skeleton had laid; a place that was now completely barren and empty, as though nothing had ever been there to begin with. He waved his arm blindly into the air beside him until it hit Scott's chest and his fingers grasped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back with him as he stumbled away.

A deep laugh rumbled through the tunnels, echoing off the walls until it completely surrounded them, starting slow then getting faster and faster until it was all that they could hear. Unlike the moans and the scream from before, there was no way to pretend that this was the wind – someone was in the tunnel with them.

Scott flashed the light back and forth down the tunnel, searching for the source of the laugh, but finding none. He could hear Stiles' heart beating rapidly and loudly beside him, mirroring his own as every instinct within him screamed that someone was close by.

Stiles' muscles were pulled taught and ready to run. His grip on Scott's shirt never weakened, his eyes scanning the darkness for something, anything that would give them a clue as to what had –

Large, boney fingers suddenly wrapped around Stiles' ankle and he yelled, jumping in terror as he kicked his leg repeatedly, until the grip abruptly disappeared. Scott spun around and shone the light at his feet, only to see nothing there. Feeling something behind him, Scott quickly lifted the light back up, only to see the once-motionless skeleton standing before them, its arms and fingers outstretched towards them, about to grab Scott's neck.

Scott's eyes flashed red and in the next moment his claws and teeth were extended, and he slashed his claws at the skeleton's face. The skeleton was forced back a few feet, but other than that, Scott's attack did nothing to deter or injure it. It came at Scott again and once more he fought against it, until finally, just as it seemed that the struggle would never end, he grabbed onto the skeleton's ribs and lifted him up, throwing him down the tunnel with all the force he had.

They could hear the bones clatter to the ground in the distance, but within moments they could hear them shifting, before the sound of bone stepping against stone began echoing down the cavern's hall. Without waiting another moment Scott grabbed Stiles' arm and they began running in the opposite direction. An ear-piercing scream followed them and the roar of wind could be heard rushing towards them, followed by the ever-quickening pace of bone against the ground.

The moans they had been hearing for the past three days arose to meet the wind and scream in a cacophony of deafening noise, enveloping Scott and Stiles and spurring them ever faster down the tunnel until suddenly, as the flashlight shone erratically down the hall, the beam revealed what was quickly arriving in front of them – a dead end.

It was impossible, Stiles thought as he gasped for breath, the sound of laughter rising through the hall once more. There was just no way. There was no way this tunnel that they'd been travelling in for days could just end, with no warning whatsoever –

As the end of the tunnel came closer, Stiles realised that it wasn't a dead-end after all, but rather, it was what appeared to be an elevator; one of those old elevators that would carry miners from one level of the mine to the next.

Scott saw the elevator as well, and grabbing Stiles' arm he increased his pace and all but dragged him to the end of the tunnel. "Hurry!" he shouted. They reached the elevator and Stiles quickly began fumbling at the metal cage, shimmying at the handle and banging at the door until finally, with a great breath of relief, the door pulled open. He grabbed Scott's arm and got inside, pulling his friend after him. The door stuck for a few, terrifying moments, until finally Stiles was able to slam it shut with a bang.

He turned to Scott to see him already busy with the levers, trying to get the thing to move and drop them down, to do anything –

Something slammed into the cage and Stiles jumped, yelling in surprise, catching only the barest glimpse of the skeleton's white bones as Scott's light jerked back and forth, as he struggled to move the elevator down. The skeleton slipped its arms between the bars and began grabbing at Stiles' shirt, pulling him to the edge of the cage and continuing to wrap as much of itself around him as it could. Stiles fought back, grabbing the skeleton's arms and trying to get it to release him, but nothing he did was able to push it away.

Stiles shouted at Scott to hurry up and Scott shouted back that he was trying. Stiles continued to fight off the skeleton as hard as he could; he reached and tried to grab onto the air to push it back, but nothing happened. He searched for the Earth, trying to shake the mountain or break the rock above them to crush the skeleton into pieces, but it didn't work. He was completely powerless.

Suddenly the elevator jerked, then shook, before it slowly began to lower. In the next second Scott was roaring and clawing at the skeleton's arms, ripping it off Stiles' neck and shoulders until one of its wrists snapped. The hand fell to the floor with a clatter and the skeleton fell back. A few seconds later the elevator – along with Scott and Stiles – sank into the floor and disappeared beneath the ground.

As they continued to lower into the mountain, Stiles felt a wave of relief rush over his body, as it looked like they'd somehow managed to escape. His relief was short-lived, however, as suddenly the elevator began to shake; Stiles and Scott looked up to see a dark shadow looking down at them, before reaching out and touching the cables that were carrying them to the ground. They then heard the sound of something snap and the next thing they knew, they were in a free fall.

"STILES!" Scott shouted, grabbing at the levers, trying to bring the elevator to a stop. "STILES, DO SOMETHING!"

"I CAN'T!" Stiles shouted back. He extended his arms to the edge of the cage and called for the air, trying to grab hold of it as hard as he could, trying to build the pressure beneath the elevator to slow them down, to stop them – but he couldn't, he cou –

Without warning, the sensation of Air washed over and flowed through him, sending a burst of strength and energy rushing through his body that he hadn't felt in days. It rushed beneath the elevator and gathered together until they began to slow, metal screeching against the stone walls that surrounded it. For the briefest moment Stiles was both shocked and relieved, but then, like an engine dying back down, his control over the air slipped through his fingers and the elevator began falling once more. Scott shouted and Stiles tried to use his powers again, but it wouldn't work. It wouldn't work and the elevator was falling faster and faster, the ground was rushing up to meet them, and he couldn't stop –

Scott's instincts screamed at him that the ground was soon going to meet them and he yelled at Stiles while still pulling at the levers, trying to slow them down, to stop them – but nothing worked.

Scott looked through the holes of the cage to see the ground quickly rushing up beneath them. He glanced back at Stiles, the wind rushing through both their hair and screaming past their ears as Stiles continued to squeeze his eyes, his arms outstretched as he desperately tried to stop their fall. Scott looked back at the ground and just as the ground came to meet them, he grabbed onto Stiles and wrapped his arms around his body. The elevator slammed into the ground with a crash, and they knew no more.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed last chapter, and thank you all for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has favourited and who have reviewed - you guys are the reason I update, and your support means so incredibly much! Thank you so much, and I hope that you enjoy this next (long) chapter!

* * *

The first thing he heard was the sound of water dripping steadily against the ground, its splash echoing through the halls and into his ears. The next thing he became aware of was the stone floor that was pressing against his hands and the side of his face – its cold numbing his skin and seeping into his body, sending a painful shiver throughout his muscles. The movement jarred his chest and he began to cough, which in turn sent waves of pain stabbing through his body and throbbing in his skull. His eyes squeezed together and he groaned, curling in on himself and cradling his head in his arms as a wave of nausea rose in his throat.

Scott jerked awake, shifting from darkness to darkness but quickly realising that the latter was far worse than the former. The memories of being chased and falling to the ground played back in his mind like a film on fast forward and he immediately sat up, his heart racing as he looked around, seeking that which even his wolf-eyes could not find. His nose, however, could – and he soon realised that Stiles was in fact lying right beside him, his arm pinned beneath his friend's body. His heart quickened when he smelled blood and he finally moved, groaning as pain coursed through his body and as he struggled to free his arm. A cough tore its way through his throat. "Stiles," he choked out, coughing again. "Stiles!" His hands ghosted over Stiles' side, trying to find where the blood was coming from – he could smell so _much_ – while also trying to wake his friend. "Stiles, wake up! Stiles!"

Stiles didn't answer, but Scott could hear his groans and knew he was awake. He abruptly turned around and started running his hands over the ground, searching for the flashlight that he had been holding when they fell. His fingers met the cold iron of the elevator cage, but despite the small space, he couldn't find what he was looking for. He tried to spread his arm past Stiles, but he couldn't move far. Finally he reached behind him and grabbed his pack, ripping the zipper open and digging his hand inside until he found his phone. He held the button down, the few seconds it took to turn on feeling like agony, but after a moment the screen lit up and Scott breathed a sigh of relief. Once the phone was set, he quickly turned on its light and shone it in Stiles' direction. He immediately cursed.

Stiles was laying on his side, his head cradled in the crooks of his arms as his body tried but failed to curl in on itself. He'd broken through the cage door upon impact and was lying half in, half-out of the elevator. Scott caught the red-reflection of blood that was pooling around Stiles' head and he finally rose to his feet, stepping around his friend until he was out on the other side. He crouched back down, his hand hovering over Stiles' head before he tentatively began to remove his arms. "Stiles," he said quietly, his words nearly escaping him. "Stiles! Stiles you have… you have to let me see it. You gotta move your arms, man…."

Stiles' groans increased and he fought against Scott momentarily, before his strength finally gave out and he let go, allowing Scott to move his arms and turn him slightly onto his back. He heard Scott curse and he finally tried to open his eyes, only to find them covered with something warm and sticky. The movement and foreign sensation both brought him to awareness, and he blinked, trying to sit up but finding his movement hindered by a warm hand that was suddenly pushing against his chest. "No, Stiles," the voice said. "You can't get up, just stay where you are. Your head –."

Stiles blinked and his vision, though blurry, came back to him. He was suddenly able to make out Scott's form leaning over him; his eyes were wide and filled with a fear that Stiles had only ever seen directed towards him a handful of times. They were focused on somewhere above Stiles' own eyes and he fought against the near-deafening throb in his head to try and figure out what was going on. Scott's fingers touched his forehead and Stiles hissed, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. Out of nowhere the pain began to lessen, until suddenly Stiles found himself almost completely able to breathe deep breaths, awareness returning once more. He glanced up at Scott, who was still focused on what Stiles now realised was his head. He tried to remember what had happened to get them here, but his memories were short and fleeting. Stiles finally managed to lick his lips and speak. "Wh't… what happened?" Stiles whispered, trying to catch Scott's eye.

"We were in the elevator," Scott replied briskly. He was now turned and digging into his pack; for what, Stiles didn't know.

"Elev'tr?" Stiles repeated. He frowned, trying to figure out what on earth he and Scott had been doing in an elevator. Beacon Hills wasn't a big town, it didn't have high-rises and tons of office buildings. The only place they ever used elevators a lot was in the library, but that had burned down, because of…. "Was it Giv'ns?" Stiles asked after a moment, looking back up at Scott.

Scott paused in his work in bandaging the wound on Stiles' head – a massive cut that ran across the side of his face, cut through his right brow and continued up his forehead and into his hair, and which was now bleeding profusely. He looked at Stiles, fear suddenly beating alongside his heart. He finished removing the shirt he was looking for and began cutting it into pieces, all the while keeping his eyes firmly fastened on Stiles. "Stiles, do you know where you are?" he asked hesitantly.

Stiles frowned at Scott, wondering why he would ask such a stupid question, before he suddenly realised that he wasn't actually sure. He decided to go with the most probable answer. "Sch'l?" he said, his words more of a question than an answer. But wait, weren't they just at the library? He glanced up and seeing the lines etched around Scott's eyes, he knew he'd answered wrong.

"No, Stiles," Scott said quietly. "We're in the mine, remember? We were going to meet the Colorado Pack and there was a landslide, and we got trapped inside…." Scott's heart pounded in his chest as he tried to fight back the panic that he knew was trying to escape. He knew head-injuries could be bad, that they could be dangerous. He could already see the massive bruising beginning to form along the side of Stiles' face and he swallowed, hoping beyond hope that the confusion was only temporary, that it would soon abate and clarity would return.

Stiles' brows furrowed together in confusion as he tried to comprehend what Scott was saying. A mine? What the heck was he talking about? There were no mines near Beacon Hills….

A memory suddenly flashed behind Stiles' eyes and it were suddenly as though someone had flicked a switch, and all that had happened in the last few days came pouring back with a vengeance, as though angry at ever having been forgotten. A groan escaped Stiles' lips which quickly turned into a cough, and though parts of what had happened were still fuzzy, he suddenly knew exactly where they were. "We fell," he said, eyes dancing back and forth as he tried to find the elevator they had fallen in. His eyes suddenly snapped to Scott and they widened in fear. "Are you… are you okay?" he asked, trying to assess Scott as best he could with the amount of light and vision he had.

"I'm fine," Scott replied dismissively, having gone back to attending to Stiles' wound.

"Don't lie to me, Scott…."

He heard Scott sigh. "I think my ankle is broken, but I can already tell it's beginning to heal. In a few hours it should be fine. Other than that, I'm just a bit beaten up. The real problem is you. You hit it your head when we crashed; got a real bad cut on your forehead that'll probably be really bruised tomorrow. I'm just wrapping it up now."

Stiles fell silent and he allowed Scott to work, waiting as Scott moved his head, lifting it off the ground and onto his leg as he tentatively began to wrap his ripped-up shirt around it. For a few minutes the only thing that could be heard was the dripping of water, and Stiles' thoughts began to turn back to the screams of terror that had torn through the air and the skeleton that had chased them down the mine, presumably trying to kill them. Suffice it to say, it didn't seem like this mountain was as normal as they had thought it to be.

He felt the pressure around his head increase as Scott tightened the cloth and he stifled a cry of pain as he squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Scott curse again – he'd been doing that a lot, in the last while – but soon the movement stopped and he felt Scott move away. Stiles opened his eyes and with his friend's help, he finally sat up. He touched the cloth – which had been fastened into a makeshift bandana, tilted slightly across his face but not covering his eye – but Scott quickly pushed his hand away. Scott maneuvered himself until he was sitting beside him and for a few minutes they sat in silence, both catching their breath and their thoughts all that had happened. Stiles wasn't the least bit shy to admit that he felt as though he'd been run-over by an elephant, followed immediately by a bus.

"Well," Scott said after a moment, reaching for his bag. "I guess you were right about the noises."

Stiles huffed. "That skeleton was a bit much, though."

"Yeah…." Scott ran his hands over his face and through his hair, taking a deep breath before dropping them to his lap, then proceeding to open his bag and rifle through it, until at last he managed to grab a few granola bars. They hadn't eaten regularly since before the landslide, and with his bag having been ripped earlier and losing a bunch of supplies, along with the rationing they'd already begun, Scott was suddenly feeling ravenous.

Stiles watched absently as Scott handed him a granola bar, before tearing into his own. Stiles couldn't stop the remark from coming out of his mouth. "So I guess it was a good idea to get the granola bars, huh?"

Scott stopped long enough to give him a withering glare, before turning back to their sorry-excuse for a meal. Stiles fought back a grin and proceeded to open his own bar, glad to see that he had no problems tearing the plastic. It hurt a bit to eat, the pressure and movements of his jaw sending throbs of pain throughout the side of his face, but Stiles wasn't about to stop eating because of a bit of pain – he was already starving as it was; and with the amount of food they had left, he knew they needed to eat as long as they could.

While they could.

After ten minutes Scott pushed himself to his feet, realising for the first time just how sore he was. He shook it off, hobbling along the ground until he arrived at the front of the elevator, which looked to be in a very sorry state indeed. He hesitated for only a brief moment before grabbing onto the bars and leaning inside, looking up into the dark, empty shaft. He strained his ears and his senses, listening for anything that would indicate that someone was still up there. All he heard, though, was the sound of the wind and the ever-present dripping of water. He pulled back and made his way back to Stiles, who was still eating his granola bar. He looked up at Scott curiously and Scott shook his head. "Nothing," he said.

He wanted to sit back down beside Stiles, but despite not having heard anything he still didn't feel safe, knowing that somewhere above them there had been a walking skeleton and someone screaming. He looked around for Stiles' bag and found it lying a few feet away. He picked it up, intending to set it down on the ground beside his own, when he suddenly realised that the bag had been completely torn in half, its edges nothing but string dangling in the air. While the remaining side-pockets were still safe, the main storage space was completely empty; Scott looked down and saw a small trail of clothing and saran-wrapped sandwiches trailing back to the elevator, but it was clear that most of what Stiles had been carrying had been lost somewhere far above them.

Stiles saw the bag the moment Scott turned and he swore, his brows narrowing in disbelief. "What the hell?! Those bags were supposed to be strong! They're meant for hiking in the mountains – they're not supposed to rip on every little thing they snag. What the hell good are they supposed to be if they can't survive being roughed up a bit?"

Scott dropped the bag beside him and sighed. "Start going through the pockets," he said. "Take what you can and we'll put it into my bag. At last that way only one of us has to carry it."

Stiles didn't reply, choosing instead to glare at the bag as he started unzipping all of the side-pockets, searching for anything that was worth saving. He found some water-bottles and a few extra granola bars, along with a pair of sunglasses and his broken phone, but aside from that there was really nothing of value. At least, nothing that would help keep them alive.

When he reached the top of the bag Stiles suddenly realised that, along with nearly all of his bag's contents, his sleeping-bag was also gone. He swore again, his fingers gripping painfully into the rough-fabric of the backpack. They still had Scott's sleeping bag, thankfully, but seriously – what the hell? First they lose some of Scott's supplies, then they're chased through the caverns as a skeleton that they'd _thought_ was dead ran after them, trying to eat them or probably use their skin for its own or whatever it was skeletons did with humans; then they'd fallen and crashed in a broken elevator – and now this. It was almost like someone was _trying_ to kill the –

Stiles froze, a chill coursing through his body and running down his spine. He let the bag go and leaned back, pain shifting through his body as he did but he ignored it, choosing instead to focus on slowing the suddenly rapid-beating of his heart. Scott stilled, then turned, his ears clearly having caught Stiles' heartbeat. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Do you… do you think someone's actually trying to… to kill us?" Stiles finally managed to get out, figuring there was no real time to beat around the bush.

Scott said nothing for a long moment, before suddenly rising to his feet. "Well, if they are, it's probably best to get the hell out of here before they do."

Together they finished moving the items from Stiles' pack into Scott's and with a strong effort, Scott helped Stiles to his feet. The change in position sent blood rushing through his head and Stiles had to close his eyes for a moment as he waited for the nausea to pass. After a few minutes he opened his eyes and took a few, tentative steps forward as Scott held onto his arms. He stayed standing, thankfully, and despite the aches and pains of a bruised and battered body, Stiles knew he'd be able to walk. Between his head wound and Scott's broken ankle, the two boys managed to make it down the cavern and into the darkness.

* * *

They walked with their arms around each other for what felt like an entire day, but according to Scott's phone, it had only been three hours. Even then, three hours of walking while injured was quite a feat. The granola bars they'd eaten earlier had done little to stave the hunger paining in their stomachs, and though Scott tried to turn the light on his phone off as often as he could, they were both keenly aware of the battery slowly beginning to decrease.

After another hour they stopped, both exhausted and more than ready for sleep. Though it was only nine-thirty at night, they knew it was nonsense to continue when they had no energy to do so. Plus, they hadn't seen daylight for four days, so proper circadian-rhythms didn't exactly matter at this point.

Scott eased Stiles onto the ground and followed quickly behind, checking the makeshift bandage on Stiles' head before proceeding to unpack his sleeping bag. He draped it across the both of them, never having wished for the comfort of his own bed more. The fear and stress of the past four days was taking its toll, and Scott wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the façade that everything was going to be okay; especially now that he'd lost the scent. But Stiles didn't need to know about that. Not yet.

The night was freezing and uncomfortable, and by seven the next morning they were awake and walking. Stiles was feeling less nauseous, which Scott took as a good sign, but neither were making the progress they had made before the elevator crash. Scott's stomach growled and he was reminded again of their need for food; food that they soon wouldn't have.

Scott glanced down at his phone and tapped the screen, closing his eyes for a brief moment when he saw the time: 4:17pm. It was getting late, and they still hadn't found an exit. It was getting late, and Scott still hadn't been able to find the air's scent. It was getting late, and they'd already been down here for four days and counting; soon they would run out of food and then out of water, and they'd end up walking further and further in circles until finally they collapsed from exhaustion, and waited for death to take them.

It was getting late.

Scott felt Stiles fidgeting beside him and he ignored it at first, focusing on keeping as much weight off his busted ankle as much as he could, but soon Stiles was moving around so much that Scott had to say something. "Dude," he chastised quietly, continuing to walk.

"I'm sorry man, it's just – gah!"

Scott glanced over and saw his friend scratching at his chin and neck, a look of angry vexation etched across his face. Despite their dire situation, Scott couldn't help but smile. "The terrible itchy stage, huh?" Having not shaven for the last four days or the days spent hiking before that, both boys were growing unintentional beards. Scott always had a tendency to go unshaven more than Stiles, and despite what others might have thought, both men were more than capable of growing rather impressive beards. The itchy-stage of beard growth, however, was a very annoying side-effect, and probably the main reason Stiles never bothered to let it grow. Now though, he had no choice.

Stiles continued to scratch, swearing as he did. "This damn beard…. I swear, the moment we get out of here, I'm tearing this thing off. I'll get a rock and scrape it off if I have to…."

The good humor Scott had been feeling fell away and he slowed to a stop, his brows knitting together as he bit his lower lip between his teeth.

Having slowed to a stop with him, Stiles turned his attention away from his beard and looked over at his friend. "Scott?" he asked, a frown appearing between his own eyes. "Scott, what's the ma –."

"I lost the scent," Scott said quietly. Speaking the words aloud sent a sharp pang of despair through his chest, as though they were somehow making truer that which he'd already known.

Stiles stared in silence for a moment, before asking, "Which… which scent? The skeleton's, or…."

"The air, Stiles," Scott replied sharply. Guilt marred its way into his chest and anger grew alongside it as he fought to keep himself under control. "I lost the scent of the clean air. I don't… I don't know where the exit is, I don't know if we're going in the right direction, or if we're just… if we're just walking to our deaths." There was a very long silence after that, during which Scott refused to look at his friend, not wanting to see the betrayal and disappointment in his eyes that he was already feeling in himself.

Finally, after what had felt like an age, Stiles spoke. "It's not your fault, Scott," he said quietly, but his voice was firm.

Scott finally looked up, his eyes meeting Stiles' own, and something in his chest broke at the sight of strength and forgiveness that he was seeing inside them. He turned away, wondering how on earth he'd ever been given as good and loyal a friend as Stiles. "I'm sorr –," Scott began, but Stile quickly cut him off.

"No," Stiles said. "I swear, it's not your fault, Scott. The air… we'll find the scent again, we just have to keep walking. We're not going to die down here, you understand? I have… I have way more I need to do in this life; there's no way I'm going to let myself become just another skeleton lying on the ground so I can one day attack some unsuspecting traveler and scare the shit out of them. We're going to keep walking and eventually we'll find an exit, or you'll find the scent again. But you can't give up, okay?"

Scott wanted to believe him, wanted to take heart at his encouragement and insistence that they'd be all right, but it had been four days and soon it would be five. It was getting late and very soon it would be too late – and no optimism or positive attitude would save them then.

They walked for another hour and a half, until finally they sat down and ate a small portion of what was left of their food. They ate in silence, the nature of what was happening too stark for either of them to speak light of, but too vivid to ignore. If everything kept going as it was, they wouldn't survive to see another week. They wouldn't survive the next few days. It was a horrifying and sobering prospect, one that neither of them had ever expected to face so soon in their lifetimes. They'd faced death before, yes – but they'd always had the chance to fight it, the chance to defy it and live to see another day. This time, however, there would be no defiance – there would be no escape.

They were going to die.

What made matters worse was a half-hour later, when they were continuing to walk through the ever-monotonous tunnel, the last of the battery on Scott's phone died – and they were suddenly left in complete and utter darkness. Stiles' breath hitched in his throat and he unconsciously tightened his grip on Scott's shoulder, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. Scott tried to re-start the phone numerous times, trying to bring back the light if only for a moment, but it was no use – the darkness was now all they had. It was a morbid personification of what would eventually be the only thing they knew. They didn't speak of it, there was no point. Instead they just continued to walk down the mine, relying on Scott's senses to keep them walking in a straight line.

They walked for what felt like another hour, both their feet aching and cold from the damp, dark space and endless steps; Stiles wanted to sit down, to take a breather, to just stop fucking _walking_ , but he knew that if he did, he probably wouldn't be able to get up again. Not for lack of strength, but for lack of hope. And it was then that Stiles truly understood just how necessary hope was for survival; hope was like life's essence, life's fuel – and if you lost that, you might as well give up the rest, because it would never be found again.

Scott had been running a dialogue through his head when they found it, had been preparing what was ultimately a goodbye for his friends and his family, apologising to his mother for having left her so early, for having left her in anguish and alone for the rest of her life. At least they would know when he died, when they saw that Liam was now the alpha. They would have to assume that Stiles had died with him, as there wouldn't be any obvious indication that he had died as well. And Stiles… well, what could he ever say to him? What words could he ever find that were adequate enough to convey just how much his friend meant to him, just how integral he'd been to his hope, to his happiness, to his life? That Stiles was here with him at the end, at the end of their lives, at the end of all things – that their lives were ending together, just as they had spent most of their waking moments – what more could you ever say? What more could ever be sai –

Both boys hit the same thing at the same time, causing them to trip over their feet and shout in surprise as they tumbled to the ground in a heap. Stiles blinked a few times, though it was more out of reflex than an actual attempt to see anything. They were still for a few moments, both wondering if what they'd tripped over was another skeleton, thoughts of being chased down a dark mine again going through both their minds, desperately hoping that wasn't what it was. When nothing happened for a few minutes Scott finally shifted, tentatively reaching forward in the darkness to try and find the mysterious object. His hands landed on something hard and cold – iron, his mind whispered. He ran his hands over it, trying to figure out what it was; his fingers glided over the oddest shape he'd ever felt, a box that rose in the middle, its edges jaded and sharp, almost like a fan…. He brushed against something familiar, but before he realised what it was he'd already pushed it forward. What happened next left both him and Stiles completely speechless.

A loud sound emanated from the object, almost like an engine turning over in a vehicle. It started slow, then grew faster and faster until it was a deafening hum. Stiles realised what it was before Scott did and shock ran through his body as he leaned forward, unable to believe what they had found. He was about to open his mouth and tell Scott, when suddenly the darkness around them began to slowly disappear and in stunned silence, both boys watched as light slowly grew above their heads, growing brighter and brighter until it completely chased the darkness away.

Stiles and Scott squinted at the shift from darkness to light, but the low, yellow glow softened the blow and both found their eyes quickly adjusting to the change. Stiles' eyes caught the string of lights attached along the top of the cavern walls on either side of them, lighting the hall and revealing the stone and dirt that surrounded it, running down the tunnel until it disappeared around the corner. Stiles looked back at Scott, who was staring up at the lights in utter disbelief; he was crouching beside what Stiles recognised as a generator – a very old generator. If its appearance was anything to go by, it had to be at _least_ from the 1900s.

"Holy shit," Stiles finally said, unable to find any other words than those. He looked up at Scott, who tore his eyes away from the lights and peered back at him.

Scott swallowed, stepping over the generator and helping Stiles to his feet. "This might not mean anything," he warned, refusing to allow hope to creep its way into his heart, despite the sudden turn of events. "It's obviously really old, it has to be over a hundred-years old – whatever this once was is now –."

"Scott, it's a freakin' _generator_. It's a generator that's connected to lights that are running down the mine. There has – this _has_ to be something nearby, they just can't randomly have put up a bunch of lights a thousand feet below the earth –."

"This is probably just a coincidence," Scott refuted. "It was left behind by accident; whatever exit is nearby has probably long been blocked –."

"Let's just keep going," Stiles interrupted, shaking his head. "Forget… forget whether or not there's an exit nearby. Let's just keep going and see what we find. Okay?"

Scott took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he finally nodded. "Okay."

They followed the lit-tunnel for another half hour, their eyes following the stringed lights as they led them further into the mine. At first Stiles was left stunned by their sudden fortune, but part of him couldn't help but wonder if this was just Lady Luck giving them one last glimmer of hope before they were left entombed here forever. As they continued to walk, however, Stiles started to become acutely aware of the changes in the walls, of the widening of the path and the smoothing of the stone all around them. It was subtle at first, but grew more and more clear until eventually Stiles felt as though he they had entered an entirely different part of the mine than from where they'd just come. What made the difference truly clear, however, was when they arrived face-to-face with a very large, and very old door.

A door. In a mine. A mine meant for extracting coal and other minerals of the earth, not a place meant for intricate, oval-shaped doors that rose high above them, as though daring them to enter. After a long moment of silent staring, Stiles spoke: "This is, by far, the strangest four-days of my entire life. And my best friend is a werewolf." Stiles' mouth fell open in disbelief. "I mean, who on earth would put a door here, in the middle of a mine? Four-days away from the entrance? I mean, it's –."

"Stiles," Scott interrupted. He stepped forward towards the door and Stiles quickly followed.

"Right." Together, both boys put their entire weight against the wooden, iron-framed doors, and pushed.

The doors creaked and groaned, but bit by bit they moved forward until they were completely open. What Stiles and Scott saw next left them in complete awe, and utterly speechless, any words they might've wanted to say stopped dead in their tracks.

It was the largest room Stiles had ever seen. Massive stone-pillars ran down the room on either side of them, reaching higher and higher until they disappeared into the darkness, meeting a ceiling that Stiles could not see. Electric lamps hung on every one, lighting the room in a yellow glow, giving just enough light to see but the barest hint of just how huge and expansive this room was. The pillars stood far on either side of them, leaving a massive space in the middle of the room, leading down hundreds upon hundreds of feet to the other side, which looked miniscule in its distance from them.

Stiles gaped, unable to believe what he was seeing. He took a step forward and began walking into the room, staring at the top of the pillars and seeing just how far the room went. "Holy… Scott, are you seeing this?" he asked, eyes catching the intricate designs that were etched into the pillars' sides. His eyes fell to the floor where he noticed for the first time that tiles were carved into the stone and, if he stared hard enough, he could almost swear they were coloured red…. Stiles glanced back at Scott, who was looking up at the ceiling with wide, incredulous eyes. He turned back to look ahead of him, a sense of overwhelming awe filling his entire body, as they continued to walk through the greatest room Stiles had ever seen.

As they walked by the pillars and across the stone-floor Stiles looked up, trying again to see where the ceiling lay. Unlit torches lined the edges of the walls in the distance, along with what Stiles now recognised as long, stone tables that were covered in very large, dust-covered cloths. Stiles' gaze turned forward and it was then that his eyes caught something in the distance. As they came closer and its shape became clearer, Stiles realised what it was and for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour, his eyes widened in bemused shock.

It was a chair. But not just any chair; it was a chair that looked as though it were made for a… a _king_. It sat in the middle of the floor near the end of the hall, lifted high on white stone and met with a simple, but elegant set of stairs. The chair itself was framed with delicate and intricate designs, edged with curves and twists of stone that displayed just how much work had been put into it. But really, as Stiles looked around once more, this entire room, this entire place must have taken years – _decades_ – to build. Thousands of hours spent by countless people hewing out stone and rock in order to create… what? What the heck was this place? Who on earth would find a random mountain in the Colorado Rockies to build a massive, grandiose, king-like room at the end of what had otherwise been just a coalmine?

Stiles' eyes fell across the wall to the right, scanning the pillars and torches until they met a… a door? Stiles frowned, walking between the pillars to the small alcove where the door lay. He glanced back at Scott, who was still standing by the chair, looking at something in its marble base, before he turned back and pushed the door open. He peered inside, trying to see through the darkness to what lay beyond. It seemed like nothing more than an empty room and Stiles took a few steps further in, wishing he had a flashlight with him to see what the room held.

Everything was quiet for a long moment as he walked inside, the sound of dripping water that had been their constant companion since they first entered the mine now notably absent, much to Stiles' relief. He stood a few moments longer in the room until he finally began to move, intending to head back outside to Scott, when suddenly a light caught the corner of his eye and he turned, his eyes widening in bewilderment at what he saw.

A red light stood shining in the middle of the room, hovering in the air with seemingly nothing to hold it or cause it to shine. Stiles thought to look around, to try and find where the source of the light was coming from, but he found he couldn't tear his eyes away from the shimmering glow, the intricate twists of red mist swirling around each other like flames dancing in a fire. Stiles took a step forward, then another. He held out his arm, his fingers reaching towards the light until they finally touched –

The moment his fingers brushed the mist the light flared to life, its flames weaving around Stiles' fingers and up his arm, until it was around his shoulders and flying over his body. Stiles blinked, taken aback, but before he could move his eyes suddenly caught an image flickering to life off to the side. He turned his head and stared in disbelief as the room suddenly became filled with trees and illuminated in moonlight. Noise suddenly grew louder and louder, the sounds of people shouting and fighting surrounding him and filling his ears. Someone ran in front of him and Stiles started, his head snapping to the side as he followed the person with his eyes. Like a camera chasing a scene, Stiles watched as the person ran through the forest, their feet barely touching the ground as they ran to wherever it was they were trying to go. Light shone against the man's face, illuminating his black hair and stubbled face, but it wasn't until he'd broken through the clearing and was covered in moonlight that Stiles saw who it was –

Stiles' entire body froze and all this thoughts came to a stop, as he immediately recognised the person standing in front of him.

It was him.

He was older, much older than he was now, in his thirties at least – but it was him, without a doubt. Lines were tinted at the edge of his features, whether from age or stress, Stiles didn't know, but he had no time to study it as a second later he – older him – was shouting, screaming at the top of his lungs into the forest's clearing: _"SCOTT!"_

 _"_ _Stiles!"_

Stiles jumped along with his older self, and both turned to see – _Lydia?_

Stiles watched as older-him ran towards an older-Lydia, who was kneeling on the ground with a person lying unconscious in front of her. She was clearly older than she was now, lines of worry etched around her eyes and across her forehead, her hair much shorter than she had it now, but regardless – she was still as beautiful as she had ever been. Clearly for Lydia, she would be one of those lucky few whom Time would not touch.

Stiles came back to himself just in time to hear his older-self ask older-Lydia a question, to which she replied, _"I'm a doctor, Stiles – I know what I'm doing! Now go find Scott, hurry! You're running out of time!"_ Older-Stiles gave Lydia one last look before taking off back into the forest.

A voice suddenly rose above all the commotion, a woman's voice – soft and ethereal, her words resounding loudly in Stiles' ears as all other noise became mute. _"When Darkness falls like jagged frost, despair and anguish will be its cost…."_ Stiles jumped, looking for the source of the voice, but there was none. Older-him continued to run through the forest, passing by scenes of fallen bodies and torn ground, of broken trees covered in blood –

 _"_ _Those seeking power from the shadows will fly, and will kill all in their path, with nought but a cry."_

The scene shifted and Stiles found himself staring into the night-blue sky, where a black circle – _a portal_ – stood floating high above them.

 _"_ _From the masses a shield will be woken, protected in hidden disguise…"_

Older-him reached out his hand and a huge gust of wind unlike anything Stiles had ever seen tore through the trees, meeting together in the air to create a hurricane, clouds quickly forming together and gathering around the portal, circling faster and faster and faster –

 _"_ _The Darkness will begin to be broken…"_

Something slammed into older-Stiles' side and a moment later the two began to fight, balls of fire erupting from Stiles' arms and shoulders; he reached out his hands towards the creature and the fire was sent flying towards it, covering it in flame. Trees roared to life and reached towards the figure, wrapping and encircling their branches around it until it was nothing more than a wooden tomb. A moment later, however, the branches exploded and everything around it was eviscerated, leaving behind nothing but broken branches and torn roots. Older-Stiles was thrown back against the trees, not even pausing to catch his breath before pushing himself back up and reaching his hand out towards the figure once more.

 _"_ _And at last the Blessed will rise."_

Like a switch being turned off, the scene of the forest and his older-self abruptly disappeared, leaving him alone in the empty-room once more. The red light that had been hovering in front of him was also gone and with the silence surrounding him, it were almost as though nothing had ever happened. Stiles blinked, his mind trying to comprehend what is was he'd just seen, what on earth had just ha –

 _"_ _STILES!"_

Scott's voice echoed from behind him, filled with an alarm that immediately turned Stiles' feet and sent him running out of the room and into the Hall. He paused for a moment, trying to find where Scott was, when he yelled again and Stiles realised he was calling from behind a door on the other side of the room. He ran across the stone-floor and behind the chair, weaving through the pillars before finally reaching the open door along the wall, where he could now see Scott standing inside. Walking up behind him, Stiles asked, "Scott, what is –." Stiles stopped, his eyes immediately landing on that which Scott had found.

It was a pit. It filled the entire room, allowing for only a small path of stone to travel around it, save for a stone plank which led out into the middle of the pit before coming to a stop, like a large, unorthodox diving-board hanging over a pool. But it wasn't the size of the pit or the oddness of the stone plank that had his attention, however. Rather, it was what was inside the pit that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and caused his eyes to widen in horror.

For the pit was filled with _skeletons_.

It wasn't a few, it wasn't a lot – it was _tons_. They were piled on top of one another like discarded toys, rising higher and higher until they met the pit's edge; white-ribs shone against the light, skeletal fingers reached towards an edge they would never touch, and black, empty-eyes stared back at them, holding answers to questions that they would never receive.

Unconsciously Scott reached out for Stiles, his fingers tightly wrapping around his arm as he started to take a few steps back. A feeling of dread suddenly washed over him and Stiles began walking backwards as well, a voice in the back of his mind screaming at him to run, to flee, but his eyes were unable to tear themselves away from the sight that lay before them.

"Stiles?" Scott finally said, his voice betraying his fear.

"Yeah?" Stiles asked, still looking at the remains of what had to be hundreds – _hundreds_ upon hundreds – of what used to be people.

"Let's get out of here."

"Yeah." Scott turned and pulled Stiles along with him until finally they were out of the room, making their way straight towards the doors from where they'd first come. At that moment the air in the room began to move and without warning the doors slammed shut, sending a loud bang echoing through the chamber. A moment later the doors on the other side of the room closed, followed quickly by the doors behind them.

A gust of wind suddenly tore through the room and the electric lights of the lamps shut off. For a moment they were shrouded in darkness, before suddenly the unlit torches that had adorned the pillars surrounding them came to life, filling the hall in a low, orange glow. The grip Scott had on Stiles' arm was now painful, but all it did was heighten Stiles' senses more, his eyes scanning every inch of the room as his heart thumped loudly and rapidly within his chest. Scott suddenly stepped forward, heading towards the door in what would probably have been an attempt to wrench it back open, but before he could take even one step, the sound of clapping could suddenly be heard from behind them. Despite the rapid-beating of both their hearts, both boys quickly turned around.

The once-barren chair that rose high above them was no longer empty, as in it now sat a man who was staring at them with a large, wide smile. His eyes were dark and narrowed, his head tilted back ever-so-slightly as he peered down at them, almost as though he were appraising their worth. What he thought of them, Stiles did not know.

The man finally uncrossed his legs and stood to his feet, spreading his arms wide before him as he smiled. "Welcome!" he said loudly, his voice echoing around the chamber. "My children – I have been waiting for a long time for you to arrive." His smile faded ever-so-slightly, but stayed firmly planted on his face. "Too long."

began walking down the steps towards the floor, his gaze never leaving Stiles and Scott. When he reached the floor he began to come towards them, at which point Scott's eyes started to glow and his nails began to grow, a growl of warning rumbling deep in this throat. The man came to a stop, but his smile never left his face. He looked between them and his smile grew. "The True Alpha, and the _Blessed_ ," he said. "Enigmas, the both of you – but yet here you are." He began walking away, heading towards one of the pillars where a torch hung burning. He reached it and dipped his fingers in the flame, but to Stiles and Scott's surprise, his fingers didn't burn. Instead the flame licked and danced around his fingers, as though greeting an old friend.

"Who are you?" Scott finally asked, his voice bolstered with every bit of the Alpha he was.

"Who I am is of no concern to you," the man replied, keeping his back towards them. "All that matters is that we are now together." His hand shifted and he grasped the handle of the torch, lifting it out of it's frame and turning back around to face them once more. The fire casted shadows across his face, darkening his eyes as his smile grew. "You were difficult to trap in my doorstep, but after that it was quite simple to lead you to where I wanted you to go. Clean air in a dark and murky mine is so _terribly_ inviting, isn't it?" His smiling eyes fell on Scott and Scott's own eyes narrowed in a glare.

"If you're wanting Stiles' powers or my claim as an Alpha, you're out of luck – someone already tried to take them once, and now she's dead. And that's where you'll be if you don't let us go."

The man began to laugh; slow at first, then rising in volume until it all but deafened their ears. After a few moments the laughter died away and the man peered back at them, shaking his head in mirth. "Oh, I don't want the _Blessed's_ powers or your title, my dear boy," he said, striding back across the room and towards the base of the stairs that led to the chair. He began to walk up the steps, continuing to speak as he did. "No. I do not want those at all. What I want from you is really rather simple and should not be at all difficult to get. So long as you cooperate…."

"You're not getting anything from us," Scott shot back. His hand had never left Stiles' arm and he now pulled him with him as he stepped back, never taking his eyes off the man in front of them.

"Oh, but I think I will," the man replied, his eyes following Scott and Stiles' every move as he rested his chin against his curled fingers. "The others thought they'd never give it to me, either."

"The others?" Scott repeated.

"Yes; many of them were quite feisty – insisted that I would never get what I wanted. But I did, of course. I always do. You met them, actually, in that room over there." He motioned towards the closed doors to his right. His eyes landed on Stiles' and a small smirk crept onto his face. "I _always_ get what I want."

Stiles had never wished more than he did now that he had his powers; his fingers stretched and clenched, itching to grab hold of the air or the earth, desperate to take hold of its power and wrap it around the man's throat. He had killed all those people, he'd dumped them in a pit like they were _trash,_ for what, Stiles didn't know, but it was clear that he now wanted to do the same to them.

A scream suddenly tore through the room, vibrating through the stone and shaking the lamps and torches around them, causing both Stiles and Scott to flinch. The man rose to his feet with a flourish, his ever-present smile never leaving his face. "Well at the moment, I have other business to attend to. But don't worry, I'll be back soon! Please, make yourself at home. For you will be staying here for quite a long while, indeed." With a snap of his fingers the man suddenly disappeared, leaving Stiles and Scott alone once more.

They waited for only a second before they both ran towards the front doors, slamming into its side and pushing and pulling it with all their strength. Scott pushed Stiles aside and with a roar he set his hands against the door and pushed. His muscles bulged and his teeth clenched together, but no matter how hard he pressed, the door refused to budge.

A deep and familiar sensation touched the back of Stiles' mind and he quickly looked around, his eyes searching the room before landing on the door that led to the pit. The sensation in the back of his mind grew stronger and without a word he grabbed Scott's arm, running across the massive room as fast as he could until they reached the other doors. They both pulled and pushed on the handles but nothing happened; Stiles took a step back, looking at the door for a brief moment as Scott started to speak: "Stiles, what –." Stiles grabbed Scott's hand and pressed his palm against the door. He didn't know how he knew they had to do this, but now wasn't the time to ask questions. He placed his own palm against the door beside Scott's and with a deep breath he closed his eyes, and exhaled.

A sensation as though being bathed in silk washed over him, and the next thing he knew the doors were creaking open before them. He opened his eyes and only briefly saw Scott's surprise before he pulled the alpha inside. He looked around, trying to follow the feeling that had led him here; a moment later his eyes landed on a small door, tucked in the corner on the other side of the pit. "There!" he said, pointing with his finger. Scott followed his direction and his eyes widened before quickly narrowing in determination. The two quickly began making their way to the edge of the pit where the small path ran around it, steadfastly refusing to let their eyes to linger on the pile of skeletons that lay at their feet.

If this were any other place, Stiles would allow himself to feel the fear and adrenaline that was coursing through his veins as he walked alongside the pit, but with the man having left only a short time before and not knowing when he'd be back, they simply didn't have any time to waste. Scott followed close behind, and it was only when he was nearing the end that Stiles allowed himself a single glance down at the skeletons below; the empty eye-sockets and open mouths made him feel slightly sick, and he knew that the last thing he wanted to do today was going swimming with a bunch of skeletons – or ever.

He stepped off the edge with huge relief and quickly turned around, grabbing Scott's arm as his friend stepped off the edge as well. So far the man hadn't returned and for that Stiles was glad, but he knew that at any moment that could change. He ran to the small door and grabbed the handle, and to both their relief the door opened. As soon as he opened it Scott jerked, lifting his head and stepping forward as he loudly began to sniff. "Air," he said stepping further into the tunnel. "Clean air."

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked. "Because before it turned out to be –."

"I'm sure," Scott replied, his voice firm. "Before it smelled like… but this is different. This one's real. There's an opening nearby and I think it's at the end of this tunnel."

"Then let's get the hell out of here," Stiles replied, and shutting the door quietly behind him, the two teenagers began to run as though hell were on their heels.

After what only had to have been a minute, a loud scream of anger tore through the tunnel, shaking the ground beneath them and causing pieces of rock and dust to fall from the ceiling. In the next moment the mountain began to shake, a deep rumble echoing through the walls and growing louder and louder with every passing second. Stiles thought the shaking would stop, but it didn't; instead it just got worse, making it almost impossible to run through the tunnel without falling to the ground. Despite the quake, Stiles and Scott were able to run up the slope of the tunnel and reach the top, where, with a relief and hope Stiles hadn't felt in days, they saw a light far off in the distance – not the light of electricity or fire, but the light of the outside – the light of the sun. _They were almost there._

Without a word, both boys began running down the tunnel as fast as they could. But as they neared the base of the slope, the mountain suddenly began to shake violently, moving forward before jerking back, sending both boys falling to the ground. Stiles grabbed the side of the tunnel and tried to get to his feet, looking back for Scott, when suddenly a great noise began to sound and Stiles' eyes suddenly caught the ground shifting beneath their feet. No, not shifting – _splitting_. The ground was splitting in half, right in front of him. And with a horrifying start, Stiles realised that it was splitting directly between him and Scott.

Scott seemed to realise what was happening at the same time and he quickly got to his feet; he had only managed to take a few steps before the ground suddenly opened up between them and in the next moment he was shifting with the earth, rising and moving far and away from both Stiles and the mountain's exit. Stiles stared with wide, horror-filled eyes as Scott stepped back from the edge, the mountain still shaking all around them. "SCOTT!" he shouted.

Scott looked up, his fear-filled eyes reflecting Stiles' own. "STILES!"

Stiles' heart was thumping loudly in his chest as he gritted his teeth, his mind spinning and trying to find a way to get Scott from there to here. But as the ground continued to shake, it quickly became evident that, apart from a logic-defying jump, there was no way to bridge the now-terrifying chasm. Scott seemed to read what Stiles was thinking and he quickly shook his head. "I can't!" he yelled. "It's too far!" He looked down into the abyss again, taking a step back and another forward, before shaking his head. "I can't do it!" He looked once more down at the chasm, knowing that time was of the greatest essence, and it was fading fast. He looked back up at Stiles, his eyes narrowing and his jaw clenching tightly together. "You're going to have to lift me!" he shouted.

Stiles' eyes widened in incredulity, his brows furrowing together in stunned confusion at what must have been something he'd misheard. "What?!" he yelled back.

"You'll have to lift me! You have to lift me with the air and carry me across! It's the only way!"

Stiles faltered, his mouth agape in disbelief at what he was hearing. "I can't! Scott, my powers – I can't do it! My powers aren't working, I can't do it!"

"Yes you can! I know you can do it Stiles, you have to – there's no other way!"

"Scott – I can't!"

"Yes, you can!"

"I CAN'T!"

"THERE'S NO OTHER CHOICE!"

The ground continued to shake and Stiles tried to swallow the panic that was rising in his chest, because he was right, Scott was right – there was, there was no other way –

Stiles held out his arms and stretched his fingers towards Scott, trying to summon the air and lift his friend across the chasm that now stood between them. Nothing happened. Stiles gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fingers in the air, desperately trying to feel the element of Air and latch onto it, to summon it and manipulate it, to let it flow through his body so that he could grab onto Scott's and save him before the man arrived, before he arrived and took Scott because Scott was on the other side, and if he was on the other side that meant Stiles wouldn't be able to get to him, and if he couldn't get to him, then that meant he would –

Stiles opened his eyes, hoping that he would see Scott floating in the air, being pushed in the air, but he wasn't – his friend's feet were planted firmly on the shaking ground, his hand leaning against the stone wall to keep himself from falling back down. Hopelessness swelled in Stiles' chest followed quickly by anger, and he shook his head. "I can't do it," he said. "It won't – I can't do it –."

"Stiles, you have to –."

"My powers are gone!"

"You can do this!"

"I CAN'T!"

"YOU CAN!"

"I CAN'T!"

"YOU _CAN!_ "

 _"_ _I CAN'T!"_

Then suddenly, without warning, the ground beneath Scott's feet gave way and he began to fall. Stiles' heart dropped into his stomach like stone and without a second thought he ran forward, falling on the ground with his arms and fingers outstretched as far as they would go. Air flowed through his body and out of his fingertips, flying towards Scott and wrapping around him, stopping his descent before jerking him back like a whip. With his hands grasped firmly on the air, Stiles flung his hands to the side and Scott flew across the chasm until he hit and was rolling across the ground on the other side, meeting Stiles at his feet. Stiles' eyes widened in stunned disbelief but he had no time to think of what he'd just done, as Scott quickly grabbed his arm and brought the two to their feet, before proceeding to run down the rest of the tunnel as fast as they could.

They could hear the stone and rock of the mine begin to fall, dust kicking up in their wake as the tunnel began to collapse behind them. Rocks began to hit their heads and shoulders as the mouth of the tunnel grew quickly upon them, the trees and grass growing larger and larger with every passing second. Three-hundred feet… two-hundred feet… one-hundred feet –

Another roar sounded through the mountain and just as the last of the tunnel's roof gave way, Stiles and Scott passed out of the mine and into the forest. The entrance fell with a thunderous crash, the force of the collapse pushing out the last of the air and blowing Stiles and Scott off their feet and down into the trees below. They landed on grass and rocks and tumbled over themselves until at last they came to a stop. It took them a moment to catch their breath, to reorient themselves and realise what had just happened, but when they did, they could only stare at each other in stunned disbelief.

They were out. They'd made it. They had escaped.

They were alive.

* * *

A/N: Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! Thank you for reading :)


	7. Chapter 7

They hadn't stayed on the mountain for long. Wanting to be as far away from the entrance to the tunnel – collapsed now or not – they had quickly gotten back to their feet and proceeded to all but run down the mountainside, their feet slipping and sliding over rocks and grass as they struggled to find a way through the trees to the valley below. Halfway down, Scott spotted a number of houses off in the distance, in what appeared to be a small town nestled within the valleys of the mountains. They began making their way towards it, their stomachs gnawing painfully within them and their throats parched for water.

It was only when they'd reached the valley, the mountain still close behind but much farther from where they had been, that all that had happened began to catch up with him and Stiles abruptly looked down at his hand, raising it in front of him. He stared at it and flexed his fingers a few times, before finally reaching for the Air and taking it in his grasp.

The air took a moment, but soon it came forth – weaving through his fingers and wrapping around his wrist, until it was tickling its way up his arm and running through his hair. Stiles closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he let the power surge through him, its familiar presence a soothing balm on both his mind and body. He could sense the trees and soil around him, its life feeding into his own and giving energy to his very weak and very tired body. Though he had only been missing his powers for a few days, it felt as though they'd been missing for a lifetime; as though, somehow, part of himself had disappeared with them, had been locked away and kept just out of reach. Having his powers suddenly back made him feel as though a wave of energy had swept over him, as though someone had breathed life back into his body and sent it running through his veins, coursing through his heart and giving him back a strength he hadn't realised was missin –

"Stiles?"

Stiles opened his eyes and blinked, awareness quickly coming back to him. Scott was looking at him with his mouth pressed in a firm line, but his eyes betrayed his questioning concern as they turned from Stiles to the trees above them. Stiles looked up, and it was then that he realised that the trees around them had suddenly grown full with leaves, despite it being only spring, and that, ever so slightly, their branches were beginning to lean towards him. Stiles quickly let go of the grip he hadn't realised he'd been holding and the trees eased back until they were righted once more.

A small smile tugged at Scott's lips as he looked back at Stiles. "Your eyes were green," he said quietly. "I take it your powers are working again? I told you they would."

Despite all that they had gone through and were still going through, Stiles couldn't help but give a smile of his own. "Yeah, well… at least they're back."

"Do you have any idea why they stopped?"

Stiles stared at his hands for a moment, then shook his head. "I think they haven't been working for a while, but I just didn't realise it. I don't… I don't know why they just decided to stop."

"Well they definitely had perfect timing – they stopped working right when we needed them the most."

Stiles frowned, trying to figure out what could have possibly happened, whether this was a one-off thing, or if it had to do with how strong he was and how much practice he'd had so far. He clenched his fingers together before letting them fall to the side, knowing there was no point in obsessing over it right now – not when they still weren't out of the woods – both literally and figuratively. He felt along the pocket of his jeans, where the piece of glass from the old mirror that had stood in the witch's house lay, wishing more than ever that he could somehow talk to Alayna, the only other person he knew of that would be able to give him answers. As it was, though, he would have to continue on alone.

They walked for another forty minutes until they finally reached the outskirts of the town. Hope began to expand in Stiles' chest, as he knew that in a few minutes time they'd finally be eating food, drinking a gallon of water, and be calling their parents and their friends, letting them know that they were alive and that, yes, this was in fact the worst spring break they'd ever had. They'd leave the mountains and, as far as Stiles was concerned, not return for a very, _very_ long time. But as they neared the edge of the town, making their way onto an old dirt-road and towards the first houses, the initial hope Stiles felt began to ebb; they knew the town was small, but they had expected to at least see _some_ people out on the streets, to see smoke rising from the chimneys or any evidence of life – but there was none.

As they walked further into the town, their eyes roaming over every house and shop, the hairs on the back of Scott's neck began to rise, as the wolf within him stirred uneasily at the abject silence and stillness of the town. Surely there should at least be _someone_ that lived –

"Hey, Scott."

Scott turned to see Stiles staring through what looked to be a shop window. Scott walked over to him and looked through the glass, seeing a number of cups and saucers set on linen-covered tables. A small placard was sat in the windowsill, simply stating: "open".

Stiles made his way over to the door and turned the knob, pushing it open with a loud creak as he stepped inside. "Hello?" he called, stepping further into the room. The wood-floor groaned beneath his feet. A glass display-case stood a few feet away, pieces of cake and biscuits sitting delicately inside. Stiles sighed inwardly in relief, his stomach clenching at the sight. "Hello?" he called again, looking for any indication that someone was nearby. "Is anyone here?"

The unease that Scott had been feeling since entering the town grew, his muscles unconsciously tensing as he waited…. For what, he didn't know, but something was off about this place – something that kept his entire being on edge and made him want to grab Stiles and run away as fast as he could.

They waited a few more minutes but no one came. It was odd; everything was set as though the shop were indeed open – cups were still half-filled on the tables, plates of food were still left uneaten. It were almost as though the people dining had just momentarily left – as though everyone had just gotten up at the same time and decided to leave….

Stiles made his way over to the other side of the counter, eyeing the desserts behind the glass, evidently torn between waiting for someone to arrive and simply taking the food that was so close in front of him. Hunger eventually won out and Stiles slid the glass door open. His fingers rubbed against the window as he reached in to get the cake, leaving behind a large smear in what Stiles vaguely realised was dust. He frowned as the took the cake out and it was then that he realised that not just the window was covered in thick dust, but also the entire display-case and counter. His eyes fell on the register off to the left and his brows furrowed slightly together as he finally took in just how old the thing was; large levers were set in place of buttons, intricately designed, looking very much like it belonged in an antique store, rather than an actual shop.

"Stiles?"

Stiles looked up at Scott, who was looking around the place in distrust. Scott motioned with his head to leave and Stiles quickly grabbed a few more pieces of food before following his friend out the door. "Here," he said, handing a cookie to Scott as they made their way back onto the street. He took a bite of his own dessert and immediately scrunched his face up at the stale taste of it; it was practically like eating dirt, but having gone so long without food, Stiles forced the rest of the cake down, hoping it would at least do something to quell his hunger.

They walked for another half hour, looking for anything that indicated someone was living here. They peered into windows and even walked into unlocked homes, searching for any help that they could find. But every window they passed was barren and every door was empty. It became apparent, however, with every house they passed, that something wasn't right. The houses looked old – though not just old, but almost like antiques. If Stiles had to guess, he'd say that they'd accidently walked through a time-portal and ended up in the early 1900s. The drapes drawn across the windows were thin and laced, and the chairs and dishes inside were aged and bordered with old-fashioned designs. Beds were single and framed in metal, and there were no stoves save for stove-fireplaces that ran up along the wall and into the ceiling. Wagons lay forgotten on the sides of the street, and no matter how hard he searched, Stiles could not find a single car or vehicle.

It was starting to get dark; by now they'd walked along nearly all the streets there were, and still all they could find were empty houses and alleyways. Many houses had plates all set out on the tables and dressers were still filled with very old-fashioned clothes. It became even more clear that something was off when they began finding black and white photographs sitting on mantles and bedside drawers, surrounded in small, rusted frames. Dust covered everything like a large blanket, and Stiles was struck once more that it looked as though everyone had just decided to up and leave – as though they'd simply gone out for air and had never come back.

Twilight had settled in and soon the sun fell behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the valleys and over the town. Scott and Stiles came to a stop in the streets, both wondering what it was they should do now. Scott turned to Stiles, about to suggest that they just find a house with two beds, when suddenly he stiffened – his eyes grew wide for a moment before narrowing as he spun around and crouched in a posture that Stiles quickly recognised as one of defense. Stiles immediately went on alert, the air stirring around his feet as he peered into the darkness. They waited for a few moments, before a figure finally emerged from the shadows. It walked slowly towards them in a defensive posture of its own, crouching low to the ground. As they drew near, Stiles saw their eyes flash gold and he realised with a start that the figure was a werewolf.

The werewolf slowly walked closer, sniffing the air and bearing her teeth in warning. Scott growled and moved to stand low in front of Stiles, his body tense and readying to fight. The two werewolves continued to growl at each other, snapping their teeth as the foreign wolf began to circle around them; Scott moved along with her, never letting her out of his sight. Stiles figured they must be speaking in some sort of werewolf-language, as it was apparent there was some sort of communication going on – but as to what it was, Stiles hadn't a clue.

Finally the she-wolf made to move forward and Scott let out a roar; his eyes must have flashed red, for the woman's defiant features immediately disappeared and she backed down, quickly crawling a few feet away from them. Finally, after what felt like an age, the woman spoke: "Who are you?" she asked, eyes flickering between Stiles and Scott.

"You tell us first," Scott commanded.

The woman snarled but did as he said. "My name is Chandra – I am part of the pack of Darius; now tell me – what are you doing so close to our territory?"

Scott blinked, the angry snarl on his face easing as he fell back on his heels in surprise. "You're part of the Darius pack?" he asked. "The one here in the mountains?"

"Yes," the woman replied, her eyes watching both their movements as she continued to crouch. "And I'll ask you again – what are you doing so close to our borders?"

Scott let his defense drop slightly, but still remained crouched in front of Stiles. "Your alpha sent me a letter," he replied, keeping his voice calm and steady. "Darius – he sent me a letter asking if I'd come and meet with him; he wanted to discuss some supernatural occurrences that were happening here in the mountains."

"I know of no such letter," the she-wolf replied curtly.

Scott took a deep breath. "My name is Scott McCall – I'm an alpha from Beacon Hills. This is Stiles, he's a friend and part of my pack. We came because your alpha sent us a letter, whether you knew of it or not. We would have been here earlier, but we… got lost on the way."

The she-wolf sniffed a few times and she turned, glaring at Stiles. "He's no wolf," she said, a snarl turning at her lips. "He's a _human_."

It was Scott's turn to frown. "He's a part of my pack," he responded, his tone daring her to question him. The she-wolf glared and sniffed once more, before shaking her head. She didn't pursue the matter, however, and Scott took that moment to continue: "Look, regardless of what you heard or didn't hear, we need help. We were trapped in a mountain four days ago and we only just got out; we're hungry and we need someone to help us. You're the first person we've found and we'd be extremely grateful if you took us back to your pack. I've met your alpha before; I promise you, if he sees me, he'll let us in."

The she-wolf was silent for a few minutes, looking warily from Scott to Stiles, before finally, she nodded her head. "Fine; but only because it would be foolish to leave an alpha unattended so close to our realm. I'll take you to the border of our territory, and from there, if all goes well, you will be taken to meet Darius." She glanced once more at Stiles, before looking back at Scott and turning away. "Follow me."

* * *

They walked through the forest for over an hour, making their way over roots and branches that littered the ground. The last light of day faded into darkness as the moon began to rise, shining brightly against the deep blue of the night's sky. Stiles felt on edge the entire time they walked, anxiety stirring deep in his stomach. The trees grew larger and denser as they made their way into the valley, the great, shadowed-mountains looming high above them, as though watching their every step.

Eventually they came to a clearing and Stiles watched Scott's head twitch; a moment later numerous figures began to appear from behind the trees, stepping carefully towards them. The she-wolf walked forward and nodded to them, speaking quietly with words Stiles could not hear. Scott evidently could, however, as a moment later he nodded his head in acknowledgment. Stiles took a breath, suddenly feeling very much an outsider.

"My name is Scott McCall," Scott said, stepping forward. "I'm the alpha of the pack in Beacon Hills. I received a letter from your alpha, Darius, asking that I come and meet him."

One of the guards, a tall, broad-shouldered man, looked down at Scott, eyeing him carefully before he spoke. "We have not heard of any such meeting," he said, his eyes calculating as he took in Scott's appearance, as though judging his worth as well as his words.

"Well it's the truth," Scott replied, his shoulders held back as he held his own against these foreign wolves. "We're not here to harm you, at any rate. What we really need is food and shelter. We've been trapped in a mountain for four days and we lost our supplies – we're hungry and you're the only ones we've found who can help us. We found a town nearby, but we couldn't find anyone there –."

"No, you wouldn't," the werewolf interrupted, his tone harsh and domineering. "There has been no one in that town for many years. It's a cursed place, that no one – least of all you – have any business being in."

Scott frowned. "Well we didn't have any other choice. It was the first place we found –."

"What mountain did you say you came from?" a different guard asked suddenly.

Scott hesitated for a moment, before answering: "The one with the single-pointed tip, half-covered in trees, east of the town."

All of the wolves hissed at once and the frown on the guard in front of Scott deepened, his jaw clenching tightly together. "And you managed to escape?"

Scott returned a frown of his own, his eyes growing wary. "What do you know of it?" he asked. "The mountain. Do you… do you know what's in there?"

The guard didn't reply and instead looked to the others, clearly communicating something that neither Stiles nor Scott could hear. A few moments later he turned back. "All right," he said, his voice low. "We'll let you pass. But you will tell Darius every single thing that happened in that mountain, do you understand?"

Scott quickly nodded his head. "Yeah, for sure – just… if we could just get some food and water first, we'd really appreciate it."

The guard nodded and his shoulders eased, stepping to the side to let them through, to what could now be seen as a path leading into the forest. Scott began walking and Stiles started to follow after him. He'd only made a few steps, however, when suddenly an arm shot out and blocked his path, forcing him to a halt. Stiles frowned, looking up at the large werewolf in confusion. The werewolf only glared at him, shaking his head. "Not you," he said roughly. "Just the alpha."

"What?" Stiles asked incredulously. "What are you… hey, I've been with Scott since we started – I came with him to _meet_ you guys –."

By now Scott had heard the argument and had turned around, quickly striding back to Stiles and the guard. "Hey," he said firmly. He stepped beside Stiles, raising his hand to grip his shoulder, careful not to touch the other wolf's arm. He glared up at the larger man. "He's with me. Where I go, he goes."

The guard shook his head. "No. He's a _human_ ; and we don't allow humans to enter our territory – much less where we live."

Stiles could feel Scott's grip tighten, but his friend's face remained stoic. "I'm telling you, he's coming with me – he will not be left behind. I asked him to come with me to meet Darius and your pack, so he has every right to be here."

"And I'm telling you, he is a _human_ – and we do not allow humans to enter our _territory_ –."

"He's part of my pack and if I say he comes, he comes!"

The werewolf scoffed. "He's a _human_ , he cannot be part of your pack."

Scott glared. "He's coming with us."

"No, he will not – and you better watch yourself, or you won't be coming either."

"You will let him pass."

"No, I will not."

"Yes, you will!"

"I will _no_ –."

The argument was interrupted when suddenly, out of nowhere, the wind picked up and ran through the clearing, pushing against the wolves' bodies and forcing them to look up. When they did, their eyes turned to Stiles, widening at what they saw.

Stiles' hand was held out before him, his palm raised to the sky as wisps of white-wind wove through his fingers, blue-light flowing alongside as it circled around his hand. Everyone was silent, nothing but the sounds of their breaths and the wind round Stiles' hand to be heard. Stiles' eyes were dark and his brows narrowed as he looked up at the head guard, waiting for him to speak. When he didn't, Stiles took his other hand and proceeded to hover his palm above the sphere of air; the wind grew and the white light shone brighter, blue tendrils lashing out around his fingers and up his arm. The sphere continued to grow, beating against the werewolf in front of him until he was forced to flinch at its strength. When he did, the wind died down and the light slowly disappeared, until they were once again left in darkness.

Stiles stared at the guard for a long moment, before finally speaking: "Well as you can see, I am _no_ human." He held the wolf's eyes, never breaking his gaze. "So I would appreciate it, if you let me through."

No one said a word; the guard exchanged a long look with one of the other wolves, before finally turning back to Stiles. "Fine," he said, stepping to the side. "But you will show _respect_ to our alpha and to any wolf you see."

The frown between Stiles' eyes eased and his shoulders relaxed, as he took a deep breath. "Buddy, so long as you give us something to eat and drink, I'll friggin' _tap-dance_ for you." The wolf frowned but said nothing in reply, moving instead to the path, leading them past the boundary and into the forest.

They walked in silence for a long while, Stiles walking behind Scott as Scott followed the head guard, the rest of the wolves trailing close behind. Eventually the path widened and the trees grew larger, their trunks wide and branches reaching high into the air. A sense of wary unease fell over him and while Stiles trusted werewolf packs more than any other creature, he couldn't help but raise his guard as they finally broke through the trees and into a clearing. Stiles' eyes widened slightly, his feet momentarily halting before the wolf behind him pushed him to keep moving.

The clearing was filled with werewolves – some large, some small, both men and women, along with – to Stiles' surprise – children. What stunned him the most, however, was not the number of people, but rather, the number of _wolves_. For while there were indeed werewolves in human form, there were also a large number of actual wolves laying on the ground – or rather, from what Stiles could only assume, were werewolves in their shifted forms. It stunned him for a moment, as while he'd seen it before in both Malia and Derek, it was still a very rare sight to behold.

The wolves raised their heads and the men and women looked up as they passed, their eyes staring at them unabashedly as they walked by. They continued on through the trees and further into the camp, where makeshift-tents and fires were set up all around the clearings and deeper into the forest.

As they drew further into the trees another clearing opened up, but in this one only two wolves lay in the middle, a few others sitting farther away by the trees. They all watched them as they drew near and the larger of the two wolves rose to his feet; the guard that had been leading them got on his knee and bowed, before rising back up and stepping to the side. There were a few moment's silence and then the larger wolf huffed; the wolves that had been by the trees got up and disappeared into the forest. The guards that had been with them turned and left as well, until the only ones left in the clearing were Stiles, Scott, and the wolf.

The wolf stared at them for a long moment until, before their eyes, he began to shift. His shoulders twisted and turned and his fur disappeared, until at last he stood before them as a human man. His hair was long and dark, and – much to Stiles' chagrin – he was also naked. Luckily the only light they could see by was from the moon, and the lack of sight Stiles had been complaining about before, he was suddenly very thankful to have. Scott, however, seemed not the least bit perturbed. "Darius," he said, giving a quick bow of his head. Stiles faltered for a moment, wondering when on earth Scott had learned all this foreign werewolf-tradition, before quickly following suit.

"Scott McCall," the man – Darius – replied, a small smile pulling ever-so-slightly at his lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the _True Alpha_?"

Scott hesitated for a moment, his brows knitting together in an uncertain frown. "We… I received a letter from you over a week ago – you'd asked if I would come and meet with you, that there… that you thought there was supernatural activity going on and you wanted my advice. We – that is, my friend Stiles and I – we left on Monday, hoping we'd find you by the middle of the week. But we found an entrance to a mine and got trapped inside. We were there for four days and only just escaped today. One of your pack-members found us and brought us back with her."

Darius' expression betrayed nothing, but his eyes drifted to Stiles, hovering on him for a few moments before turning back to Scott. After a long moment of silence, he spoke: "I do not know what it was you received, but I sent no such letter."

Scott opened his mouth but didn't speak, his tongue lost for words. At his lack of reply, Darius continued to speak: "You said you were lost in a mountain?" he asked, his eyebrow slightly raised. Scott relayed the same description that he had told the guards and at his words, Darius' eyes suddenly sharpened, his brows narrowing together. "The mountain east of the town?" he repeated. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," Scott replied, his voice low. After a silent moment, he asked: "Do you… do you know what lives there? Do you know what happened to that town?"

Darius' eyes drifted to Stiles once more and Stiles shifted, wondering what the werewolf was thinking. Darius caught his eyes and stared at him for a long moment, before turning his attention back to Scott. "Yes," he said quietly. "And if what you say is true, then you are lucky – far luckier than most – to have made it out alive. I have seen many humans – and even werewolves – enter that place, and none have ever been seen from again. You two will have been the first that have done so in all my years as alpha of this pack."

"And what is it that lives there?" Scott pressed. "Is it something supernatural, or… or is it a… human?"

Darius' eyes – which had drifted once again to Stiles – snapped back to Scott and he stared at him for a few seconds, before his lips turned down in a frown. "You've seen him," he stated quietly. "The man in the mountain. You met him." He looked Scott up and down. "And yet you still managed to escape; being a True Alpha must give you far greater abilities than even I am aware of."

"Tell me who he is," Scott replied, ignoring the latter part of Darius' remark. "Where did he come from? What can he do?"

"He can do many things," Darius said quietly. "Many powerful things, many great things, many dark things. But we will not speak of that now." He turned his eyes back to Stiles, and this time he finally spoke: "Who is your friend?" he asked, his voice deceptively light, though it was clear he was asking for far more than just a simple introduction.

"This is Stiles," Scott said.

A false smile pulled at Darius' lips. "We do not often see many humans in our territory," he said calmly. "We only ever allow werewolves to enter our home."

Stiles clenched his jaw, annoyed at having to fight for his being there once more, but Scott spoke before he could say a word. "He's an Elemental," Scott said, his voice brisk and his eyes dark. "But more than that, he is part of my pack; even if he was completely human, I would have still brought him with me."

Darius remained utterly still as Scott spoke and he stared at Stiles for a long moment, before finally responding: "An Elemental, you say?"

"Yes," Scott replied. "He can control all four elements – earth, air, fire, and water. He's powerful, and he deserves as much respect as any werewolf."

Stiles inwardly grimaced at the embellishment – well, _theoretically_ he could control all four elements, but at the moment he could only really control half of them; the other two were remaining stubbornly at a distance.

Darius continued to stare at Stiles, when Stiles' stomach suddenly growled. Colour tinged Stiles' cheeks and the werewolf looked away. "Come," he said, turning towards a path in the trees. "You are both clearly famished. We will eat and then you will finish telling me what you know – and I shall do the same in return."

It wasn't until they were sat around a fire and being handed cooked meat that Stiles realised how hungry he really was; at first he hesitated, wondering what it was he was about to eat and how long ago it'd been alive. Scott though, didn't care – he dug in as soon as the food was given to him. Stiles had to watch him for only a moment, before he realised that he hadn't eaten in nearly four days and he really didn't give a damn. So Stiles quickly began to eat, never having felt more thankful for food in his entire life.

After their fourth helpings, Darius – now wearing clothes, thank goodness – was watching them carefully, his own food left untouched in front of him. Stiles tried not to stare, to not make his thoughts obvious, but he was unable to ignore the questions of just what this place was and who these werewolves were. He hadn't had a ton of experience meeting other packs, but those that he had met were never like this. This pack was isolated, was withdrawn – and it seemed they were only too happy to be so. They spoke so formally, and it was clear that they didn't like strangers – especially humans. Stiles wanted to say he was surprised at how easily Scott fell in among them, but he'd seen Scott do many odd things since he became a werewolf, so he could only assume that it was simply part of his instinct. Still – it would be nice if he let him in on what exactly was going on.

After nearly half an hour of eating and drinking, Darius finally leaned forward and spoke: "So tell me," he began, "what happened to you in the mountain?"

So Scott told him. He told him how they'd been travelling to meet their pack, how they'd stopped for shelter and food in the entrance of a mine, how a landslide had blocked the entrance and they were forced to find another way out; he told him how they'd found a skeleton in one of the tunnels and how, seconds later, the skeleton had stood up and attacked them, chasing them into an old elevator that eventually broke and crashed to the ground, knocking both of them out and injuring Stiles. Darius' eyes glanced at the large, violently-red gash on Stiles' forehead – the makeshift bandage having fallen off long ago – before looking back towards Scott. "Did you not fight it as a wolf?" he asked.

Scott frowned. "Yes, of course I did. But it was strong; it wouldn't let up. So we had to run –."

"I do not think you understand me," Darius interrupted. "I meant, did you not fight it as a _wolf?_ As a true wolf? In your shifted form?"

Scott shrunk in on himself slightly, hesitating for a long moment before responding. "I don't… I can't…." He took a breath. "I don't know how to do that, yet. I've never shifted into a full wolf."

Darius raised an eyebrow incredulously. "You are a True Alpha, and yet you have never shifted into your full form?"

Stiles could see the barest hint of a blush on Scott's cheeks. "No," he said quietly.

Darius stared at Scott for a long moment, before releasing a huff. "Well," he said. "That is a very odd thing indeed. But please, continue."

Scott had to take a breath, but he continued on, relaying the events that had happened to them until at last he reached the great room – the room that shouldn't have existed in an old coal-mine. When he began to speak of the man, Darius' eyes had darkened, taking in every word Scott spoke. Finally Scott told him of how the man had abruptly left, and how they'd then managed to open a side door and make their way through a tunnel that eventually led to the outside. At this, Darius' eyes narrowed in confusion. "But how did you open the door?" he asked. "The man in the mountain is known for his extravagance – it does not surprise me that he would have left you to wait before he killed you. But he is not a stupid man – he would never have left if he hadn't ensured that you would not be able to escape. No man, woman, or beast has entered his domain and managed to escape – much less after seeing his face. So how on this earth did you?"

Scott's eyes flickered towards Stiles before looking back, but that single glance was all Darius needed to know his answer. "You?" he said, his tone marked with a hint of incredulity.

Scott answered before Stiles could speak: "Yes," he said. "I told you – he is an Elemental; he can do much more than a human or werewolf ever could."

Darius frowned. "I will admit, I have never met an Elemental before; but even with his powers, he should not have been able to open a door closed by _Ran Gore_."

Scott's brows furrowed together. "Ran Gore?" he repeated. "Do you mean –."

"His former name was Tristan Jacobson. Though that was when he was a mere man; when he was human. But the things he has done since then…." Darius shook his head. "He is known by Ran Gore, now; it comes from an old language, long since lost to human memory. It means darkness and death – everything that Gore has since come to encompass."

There was silence for a moment, before Scott asked: "And what did… what was it that Jacobson – Ran Gore – did?"

"You said you saw the skeletons in the pit, did you not?"

Scott swallowed, the tension in the air growing thick. "Yes," he said quietly. "Are you… are you saying he did all that? That he's the one who killed all those people?"

Darius gave a single nod. "Yes."

"By himself?"

"Yes."

"Well – well how? How the hell was he able to kill so many people? Where would they have come fro –."

Scott broke off, the answer to his question suddenly staring him horribly in the face, but it was Stiles who voiced the answer for him: "The town," he said quietly. Darius' eyes turned to him. Stiles returned Darius' stare, his eyes already confirming his words. "The people in the town – he killed them." His brows furrowed in a frown. "But why? Why would he want –."

"Gore – when he was human – desired, as many do, for power and long life. He began to dabble in magic – dark magic – as well as the supernatural. He eventually sold his soul so that, in return, he would gain great power and an abnormally long life; but to accomplish this, in order to extend his own life, he needed to take the lives of others. So, one day he did just that. He went into the town and forced every man, woman, and child to follow him, to simply rise from their tables, their beds, their lives – and walk to their deaths. And they did."

There was a heavy silence for a long moment, before Darius continued: "But the deal he made – with what manner of creature, I know not – backfired; and though he has great power and has lived for many years, he is unable to leave the mountain in which he now resides. So we remain safe here in the valleys, but any who wander onto the mountain – or worse, enter inside – they are lost; they never return. I have lived many years as a member and as alpha of this pack, and never have I seen someone return from the mountain alive. Which is why," he said, looking at both Scott and Stiles, "I am most curious as to how you were able to do so. Like I said, an Elemental is powerful, yes – but they should not be able to thwart the power the man in the mountain – of Ran Gore. So I would appreciate it if, this time, you told me the _truth_ of how you managed to escape."

The tension in the air was pulled taught, the earlier peace suddenly broken as Darius made his command clear. No one said a word for a long moment. Finally Scott opened his mouth, about to speak, but Stiles cut him off before he had a chance. "I am the _Blessed_ ," he said firmly. "Which means I have more powers and abilities than just that of an Elemental. I don't pretend to know what they all are, or anything I can do, really – but when we were in the mountain I had… I had a _feeling_ , and it told me to go to the doors and try and open it. I tried and they opened, and I followed the feeling around the pit and to another door. The door opened again and we ran the rest of the way until we were able to escape."

Stiles frowned. "Is that good enough for you? Or are you going to keep giving us the third degree, when we've done nothing but show you respect this entire time?" Stiles fought to keep the anger out of his voice, but he was tired – he was exhausted – and he was sick of constantly being questioned.

Darius stared at Stiles for a long time, his face stoic and unreadable, save for the barest twitch of his eyes when Stiles had said the word " _Blessed_ ". Stiles returned his stare, not caring if he was being defiant to the alpha who had practically saved them. It was Scott who eventually broke their silence. "Darius, you said that Jacobson – Gore – that he gave his soul in return for power. But what… what kind of power was that? What is it that he can do?"

Darius finally broke his gaze with Stiles and turned to look at Scott. "I do not claim to know the extent of his powers," he said, "or all that he able to do. He has magic, of a kind, though he is no witch or warlock. His powers were not born with him, they were acquired. He is known to disappear and reappear at will, and he seems to have a particular control over _water_."

Scott frowned. "He's an elemental?" he asked.

"No," Darius replied, shaking his head. "Not a true one, at least. An elemental is someone who is connected to the elements, who is, in many ways, a part of them – an extension of them. The power Ran Gore has over the water is one of subjugation, of a master and a slave. I do not know all that he can do with it, whether his power matches that of a true elemental or not, but nonetheless, he is dangerous. I know not all the power it was he sold his soul for, I only know that it could be no less than _great_."

A long silence followed, until finally Darius turned, rising to his feet. "Come," he said. "I will take you to your shelter where you may stay for the night. I will send some of my pack out ahead to find your vehicle and fix it for you; you will leave tomorrow in the morning."

Scott and Stiles followed the alpha, rising to their own feet. "Thank you, Darius," Scott said sincerely. They walked for a few minutes through the trees to another clearing, where a small, makeshift tent was set to the side. As Darius turned to leave, Scott asked, "Hey Darius, Jacobson – Ran Gore – when did he… when did he kill all those people? When did all of this happen?"

Darius stopped and turned slightly back. "Over a hundred years ago – in the year 1915." Both Stiles and Scott's eyes widened in shock, but Darius continued to speak: "Ran Gore is a wretched man and a vile creature; he will not be happy to have lost those whom he intended to kill. You would do well to leave this place as soon as you can, Scott McCall." With that, Darius turned and disappeared through the trees and into the darkness.

Stiles and Scott stared in silence for a long moment, before Stiles finally brought his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes together. "That – that has to be the most serious, most stuck-up alpha I've ever met."

"He told us a lot, Stiles," Scott said, turning around with a sigh. "And he's given us food and shelter – not all packs would do that; especially ones like this."

"Hey I never said he wasn't nice, I just said he was stuck-up. I mean, did you hear the way he talked? It was like talking to my great-grandfather – and he barely knew English. That's not normal, dude."

"The Colorado Pack is an old pack – much older than the Hales or any other pack I know. Obviously they don't like humans or strangers very much."

Stiles let out a huff. "Obviously."

"Let's just go to bed," Scott said, and Stiles was suddenly aware of just how tired his friend was.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, the activity of the past few hours abruptly giving way to an overwhelming exhaustion that threatened to make him collapse where he stood. He turned around to see Scott lifting the flap of the tent, which revealed a nothing more than a fur-blanket within a very – very – small space. "Hey now," Stiles began to object, looking around the clearing. "That can't be meant for both of us."

"Sorry man," Scott apologised, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But werewolves aren't exactly known for their accommodation."

Stiles frowned in annoyance but walked over, too tired to really put up a fuss. Considering there were literally no better options, he really had no choice. "Fine," he said, crawling inside and finding a spot to lie on the fur. "But I swear, if your octopus-arms come anywhere near me, I'll knee you in the back –."

Stiles turned to look at Scott, only to find that his friend was already fast-asleep. Stiles watched him for a moment, his annoyance draining away as he took in his friend's stressed and exhausted features. After a moment he turned back around, his back pressing against Scott's; his friend's warmth seeped into his skin and a calm peace fell over him. But the images of the pit, the vision he saw, and the man in the mountain would not leave, and followed him into the darkness of sleep.

* * *

A/N: Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! Thank you.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles woke to the feeling of a weight resting across his chest, its warmth seeping into his skin a stark contrast to the other half of his body, which was rather cold. Something warm also pressed against his side, like a barrier stopping him from moving. The weight and warmth was oddly comforting, and Stiles kept his eyes firmly shut, eager to fall back into the sleep he had just come from, amongst a peace and calm he hadn't felt in what seemed like an age. He shifted, turning to his side to burrow deeper into the warmth beside him, only to frown as the barrier moved. He grabbed at the wall, trying to make it still, when the weight around his chest began to tighten and Stiles finally forced his eyes to open. At first the light was too bright to see anything by, but after a moment his vision began to clear and he slowly took in the wall before him, only to realise that the wall was….

Scott.

Stiles couldn't see his face, but he easily recognised the shirt that was only a few inches away from him, along with the arm that had somehow in the night become his impromptu pillow. Scott's other arm was all but wrapped around his chest, holding onto him like he was a security blanket. Stiles leaned away and groaned, lifting his hands and pressing his palms hard against his eyes. This was _so_ not how he'd planned to wake up. And Scott accused _him_ of being clingy when he slept.

Stiles stayed where he was for a moment, the memories of the past few days slowly starting to play in his mind, but he quickly pushed them back, not wanting to deal with all that had happened so early in the morning. Assuming it was morning; it was definitely light outside, but if it was like, five o'clock, he was going to be upset. After everything they'd been through and the endless nights of awful sleeps, the least his body could give him was a full-night's rest –

"Did you sleep well?"

Stiles was startled out of his thoughts and he sat up, his eyes snapping to the front of the tent where a man – a younger, slightly-thinner but tall werewolf – was standing, lifting the front flap of the entrance with a raised eyebrow. He glanced at Scott's arm, which was still wrapped tightly around Stiles' chest, but to Stiles' surprise he didn't laugh or smirk – he just gave a small smile. "Werewolves are known for being tactile, especially with those closest to them. From what I've heard, this is probably the first time in a while that he's been able to feel safe – which is most likely why he's keeping close. It's for comfort, as well as protection."

Stiles was silent, not exactly sure what to say in response, but the werewolf didn't make him wait long before he continued: "Did you want something to eat? I was sent to inform you that there is breakfast out by the fire, if you're interested." He gave one last smile before letting the entrance close, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Stiles stared at the closed-flap for a few more moments, before falling back on Scott's arm with a sigh. The topic of food, however, made his stomach start to growl, and with another sigh he turned and set about waking his friend. He grabbed his shoulder and gave him a slight shake. "Come on buddy," he said, taking a moment to yawn. Man – after he got home, he was going to sleep for three days _straight_.

Scott didn't wake, so Stiles pushed him again. "Scott – come on; you're the one who wanted to meet these guys. They don't even like me, so you better get your ass moving or else –."

Scott finally began to move until at last he opened his eyes. He removed his arm from Stiles' side, giving his friend a sheepish, apologetic smile, before proceeding to sit up, rubbing his eyes tiredly with his hands.

Shortly after they both emerged from the tent and out into the open air. Stiles' eyes landed on a number of werewolves that were sitting by the trees that surrounded the clearing. They had been in the midst of cooking food over a fire, some already starting to eat, but at the moment Stiles and Scott stepped out of the tent they all turned and stared, looking as though they'd just seen them grow a second head.

Stiles pressed his lips together and took a breath. "Well, it's nice to know they're hospitality is up to par." The man that had woken Stiles was sitting around a fire off to their left, and when he saw them he motioned for them to come over. They made their way over to him, ignoring the whispers that had started to grow amongst the other wolves. Stiles had thought that they were whispering about him, but when he glanced over at them, he realised that nearly all their eyes were focused on Scott.

"Good morning," the wolf said as they sat down. "I don't believe we were properly introduced before. My name is Gareth."

Stiles and Scott quickly gave their own names as Gareth handed them each – what Stiles presumed to be – a cooked rabbit. Scott again didn't seem to take the least bit notice of the manner of their breakfast and immediately started to eat. Stiles took only a brief moment to steel himself, before digging in as well. After they finished, Gareth rose to his feet. "I will alert Darius that you are ready to leave," he said, and turned and disappeared into the trees.

Stiles swallowed as his eyes followed after him. "Well it's good to know we've overstayed our welcome – wouldn't want to be rude and spend more than sixteen-hours in their presence." He scratched at his beard-covered chin, wanting to be more annoyed at how quickly they were being kicked out, but at the same time too tired to truly care.

"This pack is very reclusive," Scott said, repeating what Stiles already knew. "They're not used to meeting outsiders, much less entertaining them. Besides," his eyes glanced up to the trees, where Stiles knew the mountain lay behind, "it's best we get out of here as fast as we can. Get back home."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, taking a few more bites of his food. There was a tingling that lay beneath his skin, a sense of unease, and though he wasn't sure whether it was from the man in the mountain – Ran Gore – or simply the fact that he'd been walking hungry and exhausted for four days straight, he didn't know; but whichever it was, he knew that they should leave as soon as they could. They'd told their parents they'd be back on Saturday, Sunday at the latest, and it was now Tuesday – and by the time they'd get home it'd be Wednesday. The fact that they had no way of getting into contact with them, only meant they'd be all the more worried when they finally did get back. Assuming everything went according to plan from here to then; Stiles had to admit – his plans hadn't been working out so well lately.

It was the sound of rustling that drew Stiles' attention back to the present; he turned to the right, expecting to see Gareth or Darius walking through the trees, only instead to see a….

A child.

Stiles raised an eyebrow as a young boy – no more than six – peered back at him, crouching on his toes and tilting his head to the side, looking both scared and curious; when he saw Stiles' stare and realised he'd been caught, he backed away; but the three other children behind him made a noise, and he quickly put on a brave face and leaned back up. Stiles sighed.

Great. Spectators.

"Um, hello," Stiles said cautiously. "What's your name?"

The boy looked at him warily, frowning as though unsure whether he should answer. After a few moments though, he did, his voice barely above a whisper: "Edward."

Stiles smiled. "Edward. Ed. Can I call you Eddie?"

The boy's frown deepened and he gave a dark look of annoyance. "It's _Edward_ ," he said again, louder this time.

"Okay then," Stiles quickly replied. " _Edward_. What is… what is it you wan –."

"Are you _really_ a human?" the boy interrupted, his eyebrow raised questioningly.

Stiles blinked. "Um…" he started, "…yes."

The boy's eyes widened and he took a few tentative steps forward. "I've never met a human before," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of awe.

"Well, I'm not… I mean, I am a human, but not… not really."

The boy scrunched up his face in confusion. "What do you mean, not really?" he asked.

"Well I guess, I guess I'm not really _completely_ human, because I can… I can _do_ things." Stiles inwardly cringed; he really had to learn how to explain his situation better.

"What kind of things?"

Stiles paused for a moment, wondering how on earth a child was managing to get him to say that which he had told to only two other people, before quietly, with a quick glance around the clearing, he held out his hand. A moment later a sphere of wind appeared in his palm, wisps of blue and white swirling around his fingers. All the children gasped and the boy's eyes widened in wonder. "Wow," he whispered. By now the other children had crept up behind him and were peering over his shoulder, all eyes on Stiles' palm.

An odd feeling washed over him as Stiles watched them, a feeling of freedom and safety that he wasn't sure he'd ever really felt before. There had always been a part of him that had been fearful of anyone finding out what he could do. Ever since he'd learned of his powers he'd felt different, he'd felt separated. Separated from his friends, from his father – from humans. He'd begun to wonder if that had been how Scott had felt when he first became a werewolf – knowing that you were now so very different from the rest of mankind, and knowing that, should any human find out what you were and could do, that you could be followed – that you could be taken. You could become someone else's experiment, someone else's plaything. And that, Stiles had no trouble to admit, was terrifying. But now, here in this clearing, with all these other men and women who could do things that no human could, who had abilities and powers all their own – Stiles felt at peace.

After a few moments Stiles let the wind die away. The children looked disappointed, but a second later Stiles brought his hand to the ground, placing his palm against the soil. There was a beat, then Stiles lifted his hand to reveal a sprouting plant underneath. The children watched as the plant grew taller and taller, until a small bud appeared and spread into a small, purple flower. The children laughed and smiled, and Stiles couldn't help but smile himself. He'd never used his powers like this, had never used them to entertain anyone other than himself or Scott. He had to admit, it was really rather nic –

"Are you a werewolf?"

Stiles looked up from the flower to see one of the children – a young girl – standing over by Scott, giving him the same, skeptical look that Edward had given himself moments before. Stiles could see Scott give a small, bemused smile before answering. "Of course," he said. "Can't you smell me?"

The girl took a few sniffs, but still looked uncertain. "You smell like one," she said. "And you're an alpha, too. But Papa said that you can only look human – that you can't be an _actual_ wolf."

The girl's words were spoken entirely out of childish innocence, but her remarks still stung nonetheless. Scott swallowed and quickly put back a smile, trying not to appear more hurt than he was. "Well, I may not know how to turn into a full-wolf yet," he said, trying to keep his voice light, "but that doesn't mean I'm not a werewolf. I just haven't learned how to do it yet."

"But everyone knows how to do it!" the girl insisted, not understanding why Scott, an alpha, couldn't shift.

"Well, I didn't grow up as a werewolf. I only became one a few years ago."

The girl looked exasperated. "But you –."

"Elizabeth! Come here!"

Scott and Stiles looked up to see a woman – presumably the girl's mother – standing in the clearing, looking both cross and worried as she instructed her child to come to her. The girl – Elizabeth – gave a put-upon sigh and quickly ran over to her. The woman grabbed her hand and gave her a few stern words Stiles couldn't hear, before turning around and starting to walk away. Before they could make it to the trees, however, the girl suddenly broke away and ran back to Scott, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a hug. She whispered loudly in his ear before breaking away, and before Scott had any time to respond, she was gone.

Stiles couldn't keep the smile off his face at what she had said: _"It's okay, I couldn't do it the first time either."_

Stiles caught Scott's eye and the two shared a smile, before Stiles felt someone tugging on his sleeve. He looked down to see one of the other children – a small boy with bright, chubby cheeks – looking up at him. Stiles started to say hello, but was interrupted when the boy began to pull on his arms and climb into his lap. Stiles wasn't sure what to do – he didn't have any experience with children, and their abrupt and invasive natures was rather bewildering. The boy grabbed Stiles' hand – the one he'd used to hold the wind – and began to touch it, his actions clearly asking what his words didn't.

Stiles could hear Scott snickering beside him, but before he had a chance to do anything about it, Darius' voice suddenly broke through the clearing: "You've made some friends, I see." The children all froze and looked up at their alpha, before they all began scrambling and dashed off into the trees, leaving Stiles and Scott by themselves once more.

Darius smiled. "I take it you slept well?" he asked politely. Both boys nodded and Darius' smile grew. "Good. I would allow you to stay longer, but I think it is for the best if you leave as soon as possible. Ran Gore may not be able to step foot outside his mountain, but that does not mean he will not be searching for you. Two of my pack members will lead you back to your vehicle; they know a path that will get you there before the day's end. They are gathering supplies as we speak. Will you be ready to leave in an hour's time?"

"Yeah, for sure," Scott replied. "Thank you so much for taking us in – you have no idea how much we appreciate it."

"Oh, I think I have a good idea," Darius said with a smile and nodded at Scott. His eyes drifted to Stiles and his face turned pensive as he stared. Stiles shifted, unsure what to do, when finally Darius spoke: "I have heard many tales about you, _Blessed_ ," he said quietly. He stared at him for a moment longer, before continuing: "There will be many who will come after you, many who will seek to defeat you. To stop you. That you are also with a _True Alpha_ makes your presence here only all the more dangerous. It would be wise to return to your home as soon as you can." He stared at Stiles a moment longer before a small smile turned his lips and he raised an eyebrow. "Who knew that the small, seemingly insignificant pack of _Beacon Hills_ was hiding so much?" And with that, he turned and disappeared into the trees.

Stiles and Scott remained silent, neither saying a word. A few minutes later the sound of shuffling could be heard from behind them and they both turned to see three werewolves stepping into the clearing. One Stiles recognised from the group of guards that had led them in the night before, but the other two he did not know. They quickly introduced themselves as the ones that would be leading them back through the mountains, and that the supplies of food and drink were almost ready. It would be a hard day's push, they said, especially with Scott and Stiles already being significantly weakened from their days in the mountain not long before, but they insisted that they would help in whichever way they could. Stiles had to admit, his impression of the Colorado Pack was starting to improve.

Their packs for the day's journey would be ready in less than an hour, the wolves said, so until then Scott and Stiles could simply relax. One of the wolves handed them both a cup of water to last until then, which, after spending four days with no water in a mountain, they were more than thankful to have. They sat back down around the fire and Stiles took a big drink – damn, but he was definitely going to miss fresh mountain water, that was for sure – wondering if he'd be able to catch some last bit of sleep before they left. He was about to mention this to Scott, when his friend suddenly rose to his feet. Stiles started to get up too, but Scott motioned him to stay down. "No, it's fine," he said. "I'm just going to check out where other members of the pack live, and maybe find somewhere to use the bathroom. We're going to be walking all day, so I'd sit for as long as you can."

"Yeah," one of the wolves laughed. "Have to show this _True Alpha_ here what real werewolves are like, eh?"

Stiles' face immediately fell into a frown. The good impression he'd had before was now gone.

"Daniel," one of the other wolves said crossly, "don't be such a rat. The fact is that whether he can full-shift or not, he can still beat your sorry ass into submission." The conversation continued on but fell away as they all walked through the trees. Stiles sighed, and though he was still exhausted, he found he couldn't wait to leave.

A few minutes later the children's heads popped out of the brush, wide grins on each of their faces. Stiles smiled and shook his head, but a few minutes later he was once more surrounded and holding a sphere of wind in his hand, running the wind through the children's hair, smiling as they laughed an giggled at the sensation. A stray wisp of wind ended up reaching too far as they played and knocked Scott's cup over, spilling the water across the ground. Stiles let out heavy sigh. It was going to be a long day.

Eventually Scott and the werewolves came back, smiling and chatting amicably. Scott seemed to be quite at home here, despite the constant nudging over the fact that he couldn't full-shift into a wolf. Stiles rose to his feet and grabbed the pack that Scott handed to him, adjusting it onto his back. A short while later they were ready and Scott, Stiles, and the two wolves set off into the wilderness.

* * *

"We will keep to the mountainsides," the leader, Daniel, said as they walked through the trees. "The man in the mountain holds a power over the water, so we avoid the rivers and lakes as much as we can."

They walked along paths through valleys and forests that Stiles would never have known were there, had he and Scott been by themselves. The day was long and difficult, and as the sun reached the top of the sky and then began to sink back down to the horizon, Stiles felt as though his legs were going to break from beneath him. He vowed to himself that once he got home, he was _never_ going to walk anywhere ever again.

Compared to all that had happened in the past week, the journey back to the jeep was surprisingly uneventful. Or, Stiles should say – was _thankfully_ uneventful. By the time they reached the road that would take them back to the jeep, the sun had set and the moon had begun to rise. By the time they finally made it to the jeep itself, it was completely dark – nothing but the light of the moon and the stars to guide them. When Stiles' jeep came into view, he didn't think he had ever seen anything more wonderful in his entire life. It was even better than when he'd found it again after escaping from Givens'. At least then he'd been able to see it out the window; this time he'd truly thought that he'd never see it again – along with everyone and everything else in his life.

As they arrived at the vehicle Stiles dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys, which were still in his possession, thanks to Givens – after her, he'd always made sure to keep it on his person at all times, no matter what.

They turned, gave their thanks, and said their goodbyes to the werewolves that had helped them, reiterating once more their appreciation for their taking them in. The two wolves nodded, warning them to be careful in the future and, if they ever chose to return, to stay as far away from the mountain of Ran Gore as much as they could. They handed Scott the rest of their supplies – sacks of water and cooked rabbit – before turning around and disappearing into the night.

"Well," Scott said after a moment, turning to Stiles. "Shall we get out of here?"

"As though Hell were on our heels," Stiles replied, shoving his key into the lock and pulling the door open.

Scott watched him for only a moment, before quickly striding over to his side and taking the keys from his hand. "I think I should drive," he said. "You look like you're about to drop. I'm a werewolf – I'll still be able to drive for a few hours, at least until we're out of the mountains."

"You keep saying you're a werewolf whenever you want to try and do something you think I'll say no to," Stiles said, though he let Scott take the keys without a fight. "It's like you think I'll forget, or something. Like I could ever forget something like that."

Scott just pushed Stiles inside until he was sitting in the passenger seat, before climbing behind the wheel and shutting the door behind him. He turned the ignition on and – to both their great relief – the engine roared to life. Scott put the jeep into reverse and began making his way out onto the road.

Stiles tried to keep his eyes open, tried to pay as much attention as he could as Scott began to drive, but the comfort and familiarity of the jeep was too much – and before he realised it, his eyes had closed and his head rested against the window, as he fell into sleep.

Scott drove for three hours before exhaustion began to overtake him, too. Though he often told Stiles his being a werewolf meant he had more stamina and strength than a human, even he had his limits – and a week of walking through the mountains and being chased through abandoned mines was more than enough, even for him. He found a secluded area off the side of the road and turned the jeep off, making sure all the doors were securely locked before following Stiles into sleep.

They awoke early the next morning and from there Stiles took over as driver. He was still tired, the sleep he'd managed to get not having been nearly enough to make him feel like a person again. They drove for another three hours before fuelling up with the jerry cans that were remarkably still in the back; they continued on, watching as the sun once again rose in the sky before falling back down. Dusk was just beginning to settle on the horizon when they finally pulled into Beacon Hills.

Seeing the place that Stiles had thought he would never see again was more shocking than either he or Scott realised, his chest constricting as they entered the town and got onto the main and familiar street. Stiles had thought he'd had a decent control over himself, that going home would be a simple drive, a quick hello and apology to his dad for being so late before heading off to bed to sleep for the rest of the week. Instead, the exhaustion and fear that had built over the days in the mountain, the thought that they'd never leave the place alive, that they'd end up rotting corpses on the dark, cold floor of the mine – it was too much; and Stiles was suddenly aware that his eyes were growing hot and his breath was starting to catch in his throat.

Scott – who had taken over as driver two hours ago – drove up into Stiles' driveway, the thought of seeing his mother again the only thing pressing on his mind. He suddenly couldn't get into the house fast enough, couldn't find a phone fast enough to call her, to make sure she was okay, to tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry for making her worry. He glanced over at Stiles as he put the jeep into park, frowning as he realised that Stiles' eyes were red and his jaw was clenched firmly shut. He looked back at the front of the house, where light poured out from the half-closed window.

They were home.

Scott opened the door and quickly stepped out, Stiles doing the same a moment after. They all but ran to the entrance. Stiles reached out, stuck his key inside and turned the knob, pushing the door open and walking inside.

The only light in the living room came from the tall lamp that stood in the corner, casting the room in a soft, orange glow; the only other light came from the kitchen. The house was completely silent, save for the soft whispers of John's voice coming from the kitchen. When Scott closed the door behind them with a soft click, John's voice suddenly stopped. "Stiles?!" John shouted a moment later, his voice a mixture of both anger and worry – a mixture Stiles had become only all-too familiar with over the years. "Stiles, where the hell have you been –." John appeared in the living room, his phone held in his hands as his eyes finally fell on Stiles and Scott.

At first he looked angry, but the moment he saw their faces, the lines in his face eased and gave way to shock. There was noise from the phone and John barely managed to bring it back to his ear, saying, "Yeah Melissa, it's them. Yeah. Yeah, we'll be here," before hanging up. He stared at both boys a moment longer before swearing. _"Son of a bitch."_ Without another word he strode over to them, pausing only long enough to stare at the large gash that ran across the side of Stiles' face, before wrapping Stiles in a hug. They stayed that way for a few moments until John pulled back, staring at Stiles' beard-covered face before turning to Scott and pulling him into a hug as well. Finally, he spoke: "What the hell happened?"

They hadn't talked about how much they'd tell, about whether or not they'd say anything about the mine and the man in the mountain at all. It was over now, and even though John and Melissa both knew about the supernatural, Scott didn't want to have to worry or frighten them more than was necessary. But looking at John's face, while Stiles had gone uncharacteristically silent, Scott's own exhaustion weighing heavily on his body, the werewolf found he had to at least tell John _something_.

"There was a mine," he said, taking a moment to find his words that seemed stuck on his tongue. "It was raining. We just went inside for cover and to get something to eat, but then… but then there was a rockslide, and the entrance got covered. We weren't able to move the rocks, so we had to find another way out. It took us a while, but… but eventually we found another way out."

John stared at him incredulously, fear and worry etched on his face. After a moment he found his voice: "How long did it take you to get out? Why didn't you call someone?!"

"It took us a few days, and we didn't call because… because we lost our phones and backpacks in the slide. It got… it got pretty intense there for a while."

John swore again and looked back at Stiles, who looked as though he were about to collapse. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes once more landing on the red gash across his head. When Stiles didn't answer, John asked again: "Stiles, are okay? Are you hurt?"

Stiles finally blinked and looked at his dad, before nodding his head. "Yeah," he said, licking his lips. "Yeah, I – I'm fine. Just tired. We've been walking for a long time."

"We need to get that looked at," John said, motioning to the gash. "It looks infected. When did you get it?"

Stiles frowned, trying to calculate exactly when they'd fallen in the elevator, but found that he couldn't – all the days in the mine had melded together, as though they were just one, long, horrible event. Finally he shook his head. "It happened in the mine, so maybe… maybe a week ago?"

John blanched. "A week ago? Are you serious?" He gaped for a moment, at a loss for words, before managing to continue: "Melissa will look at it once she's here," he said, suddenly realising that his son was about to fall asleep at any moment. "Why don't you go take a shower and get ready for bed? You look ready to fall asleep right now. I'll bring Melissa up to you when she's here."

Stiles had been ready to go straight to bed, but the mention of a shower made him remember that he hadn't washed in well-over a week and a half, and suddenly he could think of nothing else. He made his way through the dining room and up the stairs, heading straight into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. He stripped out of his clothes, and it was only then that he realised just how dirty they actually were – and just how much they were covered in blood. His jeans had so many tears in them, he looked as though he'd gotten in a fight with a mountain cat. It'd be funny if the way it had actually happened was so awful. It had some blood stains from where he'd cut and scraped his legs, but it was his shirt that was really messed up; blood was splattered everywhere and what had once been a white shirt, now looked as though it had been stained red – except, of course, that it was blood instead of dye.

Stiles turned on the taps, stepping into the shower and letting the warm water wash over him, feeling his muscles relax for the first time in what felt like an age. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting his head fall back against the cold tile. He was _never_ going to the mountains again.

When Stiles opened his eyes next, the room was filled entirely with steam and the water was beginning to grow tepid. With a sigh he quickly wash, before turning off the taps and stepping out onto the mat. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, wrapping one around his waist while using another to dry his hair. He could vaguely hear noise downstairs and he figured that Melissa must have arrived by now, most likely fretting over Scott like any mother would.

Stiles walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. As he waited for the water to fill he grabbed his shaver, running a hand over his scraggly beard, glad to _finally_ be getting rid of it. Once the sink was full, Stiles reached for the shaving cream. He was just about to dip his shaver into the water when suddenly, something caught his eye.

The water in the sink rippled once, then twice, before, ever so slowly, an image started to appear.

It was an image of Beacon Hills hospital. Stiles recognised the hallways as though they were his own home. He had seen the hospital during many crises – had witnessed the rush of the ER and the gait that doctors and nurses carried when a shift was particularly difficult. The frantic pace that they were walking with now, however, Stiles didn't think he had ever seen before in his life.

Doctors and nurses were running across the hallways, moving from room to room before running back out again; they were shouting at each other, their voices strained, hovering on the edge of outright panic. People were standing amongst them, men and women, crying children – trying to grab their attention, tears running down their faces as they begged for help, but the staff ignored them, continuing to run into as many rooms as they could. Something was happening, something bad – but what was it?

The image shifted, changing from the chaos of the hallway to a lone hospital room, where two beds sat with a curtain pulled between them. The people in each of the beds were asleep, lying on their backs with tubes attached to their mouths and disappearing under the sheets. A man sat beside a sleeping woman, holding her hand in his. He looked up when a younger woman entered the room, stopping at the end of the bed. Her voice echoed in Stiles' ears, shaky and fearful: _"They say it's a sickness. They don't know what it is, but it's spreading faster than they can't contain it. They're trying pretend everything is under control, but it's obvious it's something bad."_

 _The man's features were pulled taught. "Has anyone… has anyone died?"_

The young woman said nothing, but her silence was answer enough. After a few minutes, she spoke _: "Everyone's been exactly the same. They present with symptoms no different than that of the common flu. But within days they're unconscious, and then… and then they don't wake up."_ The girl's voice began to choke, and she covered her face with her hand as tears began to fill her eyes. _"They don't wake up, no one's woken up. Why won't they wake up? What's going on? What's going on, Dad?"_

Stiles stared at the scene, his eyes wide, the panic in the girl's voice feeding into his own. What was going on?

"What is going on, indeed, _Blessed?_ "

The scene before him abruptly disappeared, replaced with the face of a man – the man that he and Scott had seen in the mountain – the face of Ran Gore. His face was not just an image, but looked as though it were actually there, as though it were sitting in the water, his dark eyes looking back at him, his mouth twisted in a hideous smile. Black gunk seeped from his hair and spread into the water, until it was turned completely black.

Stiles tried to look away, to move his hands, but he found himself completely frozen, unable to move. As he stared, the man began to laugh – his deep voice reverberated throughout the air, beating in Stiles' head like a hammer against his skull. Without warning Stiles suddenly moved, and he punched his hand into the water. The face didn't disappear, though; instead the black water splashed over the bowl and spilled onto the floor. It didn't stop there, however. Instead it began to spread further into the room, crawling across the tiles and over the toilet, running up the walls and covering everything in a dark, inky-blackness. It surrounded him, covering every inch of room until there was nothing left, until there was only darkness left, Ran Gore's voice laughing all the while. And he couldn't – he _couldn't_ –

A loud knock suddenly came at the door, and Stiles' head snapped up.

The black ink that had covered the room was now gone, the room looking as white and clean as it had been before. Stiles' eyes were wide and he suddenly realised that his heart was hammering in his chest. A moment later Scott's voice sounded from the other side of the door: "Stiles?" he called. "Stiles, are you okay?"

Stiles' head whipped back to the sink, where clear, still water sat in the basin. He looked up at the mirror and saw his own frightened, scar-covered face staring back, his hand still raised and holding his shaver.

"Stiles?"

Stiles dropped his shaver to the counter and pressed the handle on the sink, draining the water. He gripped the towel around his waist and went to the door, pulling it open. Scott blinked, but quickly gave him a cautious smile. "Hey," he said. "Is everything… is everything all right?"

Stiles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just… just tired."

Scott frowned, his brows furrowing together in distrust. "Stiles…."

Stiles just shook his head. "No, seriously Scott – it's fine. I thought I saw something, but I think I'm just tired. I need to sleep. And not on the ground in some wannabe-tent, not in my jeep – in my _bed_. So just – it's fine, okay? Everything's _fine_." Stiles ran his hand over his face, a headache pounding behind his eyes as a wave of exhaustion fell over him.

Scott stared at Stiles a few moments longer, before finally nodding his head. "Okay," he said. "But just let my mom look at that cut, okay?" He motioned towards Stiles' face.

Stiles nodded in agreement. "Okay."

After getting dressed, Stiles went downstairs and met everyone in the dining room. Melissa looked like she was torn between being angry and being worried, but when she saw him all her anger fell away and she gave him a big hug, before turning her attention to the gash across his face. After a long few minutes of pushing and prodding, she gave her diagnosis: "I can stitch it up where it's still open," she said. "But it's going to scar. It won't be too visible, but it'll be there nonetheless."

John looked unhappy by the news, but Stiles couldn't bring himself to really be upset; he was just far too tired to care. "Well," he said. "What's going on a trip into the mountains like, without getting a souvenir, huh?" Neither John nor Melissa looked particularly pleased at that statement, but Stiles ignored them. Had they known what had really happened in the mountains, they would know that getting a scar on the side of your face was far more preferable than what could have happened. To what had _almost_ happened.

They didn't stay up much longer. A half hour later Scott had left with his mother, leaving John and Stiles alone together. Stiles knew that his dad wanted to ask more, to figure out exactly all that had happened, but he stayed silent – instead allowing his son to go back upstairs and go to bed, which Stiles was all-too thankful to do.

He collapsed on his futon bed and managed to burrow his way under the covers, ready to fall asleep before he realised that the light was still on. Looking back out over the sheets, he pointed his finger towards the light-switch, reaching for the air and pushing it down. The switch snapped down and the room was doused in darkness, save for the moonlight streaming in through the window. Stiles turned onto his side, covered himself in the warmth of the blankets, and finally – _finally_ – went to sleep.

* * *

A/N: This is crunch time at university, so writing has (momentarily) taken a back seat. Thank you to all you have reviewed, faved, and followed this story!

Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! Thanks so much :)


	9. Chapter 9

John glanced at the clock on the microwave near the stove: 11:33am. Stiles was still in bed and the house was still completely silent. John had stayed up most of the night, in case Stiles had woken and needed something, but he hadn't; as far as he could tell, Stiles had slept through the entire night and almost the entire morning. John didn't bother him though, wanting him to sleep for as long as he could. He still didn't know half of what his boys went through, still didn't know how Stiles got that gash on his face, still didn't know how they'd gotten out or found their way back to the jeep. But at the moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that Stiles and Scott had come back safe, after days of endless calling and frantic pacing, of sleepless nights and ceaseless worry. He'd taken the day off work, hoping that whenever Stiles woke up he'd be able to check him over and find out for certain that he was okay.

* * *

Stiles shifted in his bed, awareness slowly slipping back to him as he felt the blankets around his arms and legs, soft and warm fabric that felt strangely foreign after sleeping on rock and ground for over a week. After a few minutes he opened his eyes, blinking as he took in the thin rays of light shining from beneath the curtains. For a few glorious moments. he didn't remember anything that had happened in the past ten days – didn't remember the rockslide or the cold darkness, didn't remember the man in the mountain or the abandoned ghost-town. But that moment quickly came to an end and the memories of all that had happened came rushing back; he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the side of his face into his pillow, wishing that he could go back to sleep and forget – but it was too late for that.

Eventually Stiles pushed the blankets and sheets aside, and stepped out onto the carpeted floor. He walked over to the door and twisted the knob, reaching for the light-switch as he did. He opened the door and started to go out, when he realised something felt funny. He stopped and looked at the switch on the wall, trying to flip it up and frowning when he found that he couldn't.

He opened the door wider to let the light shine into the room to get a better look, and his brows furrowed together at what he saw. A deep crack ran through the switch's cover, splitting the frame completely apart. The switch itself was pressed down so far into the broken plastic and into the wall, that no matter how much Stiles pushed, it refused to move. Stiles stared at it for a long moment in confusion, wondering how on earth it had been broken so badly – and when. Had it been that way when he'd gone to bed? It were as though someone had taken a hammer and smashed it against the switch, with such force that it became embedded into the plastic and wall.

Stiles gazed at it for a moment longer, before shaking his head and moving into the hallway. He headed towards the stairs, wincing as he did. It felt as though every muscle in his body was aching in pain, his legs still feeling like jelly. He stepped quietly down the stairs until he reached the bottom, where he found his dad sitting at the table, reading the newspaper with a cup of barely-touched coffee in his hand. The older man looked up at the noise and when he saw Stiles the tension in his face immediately shifted and he quickly stood up to his feet. "Stiles," he said, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "How are you feeling?"

"All right," Stiles replied, making his way to the table and pulling out a chair. He sat down gingerly, trying not to wince as the movement jarred the bruises on his abdomen.

John quickly started heading towards the kitchen. "Can I get you something to eat? Waffles? Toast?"

"Toast it fine," Stiles said, wanting to tell his dad to sit down and not worry about it, but at the same time unable to deny the hunger that was rumbling in his stomach.

Five minutes later his dad was setting a plate of buttered and jammed toast, along with a full cup of apple juice. It took him a few bites, but soon Stiles was all but inhaling the food and drink down his throat, finishing it all in just a couple minutes. Without a word, John stood up and made some more.

After he was finished, Stiles leaned back, knowing that the next hour would be filled entirely with accounts and explanations of all that had happened. He did his best to explain how the first two days of their trip had gone quiet and well. When he got to the part where the mine had collapsed on them he could see his father's jaw clench, and he did his best to brush over the next four days as best he could. He told him how their lights had eventually gone out and that yeah – for a while things did look pretty grim; but eventually Scott managed to find the scent of clean air and they'd followed it out into the open once more.

He then told him about finding the Colorado Pack, and how they'd taken them in and gave them food and shelter, leading them the next morning back through the mountains and to their repaired and waiting jeep. After that they'd simply driven back home, taking turns and getting sleep when they could.

His dad pressed and pushed for more, filling in whatever blanks Stiles had left out. By the end Stiles felt ready to go back to sleep, but he knew that the day had only just begun. His dad had mentioned earlier that Lydia and Malia had been over at their house more times than he could count in the past few days; apparently Lydia had had a really bad feeling, had sensed that something was wrong, and the fact that she couldn't reach either Scott or Stiles had elevated the worry into full-blown panic. John had called them both last night and informed them that he and Scott had returned, more or less in one piece, and that they were welcome to come over the next day. Though he still felt like he wanted nothing more than to crawl under his blankets and not come out for the rest of the day, Stiles had to admit, it was sure going to be nice to see his friends – especially after all those nights of believing that he'd never see them again.

Stiles reached into his pocket for his phone, before remembering that he didn't have one anymore. He felt oddly naked without it, the need for communication more important than he'd ever felt before. His dad reached across the table and gave him his personal phone, saying he'd be fine with his work phone until they could get Stiles a new one. An hour later he ended up getting an emergency call back at that station, and after much pushing and assurance from Stiles that he would be fine, John left.

A half hour later Scott arrived at the door, looking more rested and healed than Stiles certainly felt. "Hey man," Scott said, stepping inside and taking off his shoes. He had a smile on his lips, but his eyes betrayed his mental exhaustion and concern. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Stiles replied, moving to sit back down on the chair. "Tired, but I slept for over twelve-hours straight, so I can't say I didn't sleep."

Scott gave a small smile. "Yeah, I slept pretty long, too." His smile slowly faded, and light lines of worry around his eyes reappeared. "What are we going to tell the girls and Liam?" he asked quietly.

"Just… just tell them everything – the mine, the pack, the man in the mountain. But just… just leave out the parts about me, of course."

Scott stared at Stiles for a long moment, before turning his head and shifting his gaze to the window. "Stiles," he started slowly, "you kept my secret for me when I was first turned, so I will never tell another soul about yours, not unless you tell me to." There was a long pause, and then, "But they… they already know so much; about werewolves, about the supernatural…."

His eyes turned back to his friend, who was looking away from him and off into the distance, lines etched deep between his eyes. Finally, after a long moment, Stiles spoke, his voice low and quiet: "They'll find out eventually, Scott."

Scott fought to keep his annoyance inside. "That's what I'm saying – they're going to find out at some point, so why shouldn't –."

"No, Scott. I mean they _will_ find out. I know they will, because I… I saw it."

Scott's brows furrowed together in bemusement and he shook his head. "What… what are you talking about?"

Stiles continued to look away from him, never moving an inch. "In the mine, when we were in that room before Ran Gore came… when you were looking around the chair, I found another room off to the side…. There was a light inside, it was just… just floating in the air, in the middle of the room. I… I touched it, and when I did everything around me changed. A forest appeared – it was like I'd just suddenly been transported there, in the blink of an eye. It was dark, but the moon was really bright – you could see everything. And I was moving, I was following someone as they ran; it wasn't until they broke through the trees and got into a clearing, that I realised that the person who was running was… was _me_. But I was older. It looked like I was in my late twenties, or early thirties. And then I saw Lydia. She was yelling at me to run, to keep going, to use my powers to… to save _you_." Stiles finally looked at Scott, and his friend saw the lines of worry etched deep around his eyes.

There was silence for a long moment, before Scott finally managed to speak. "So you… what? You had a – a vision? Like Lydia?"

Stiles looked away again, his fingers starting to tap against the top of the table as he shook his head. "I don't… I don't know. Maybe? It was the first one I had, and I –."

"What do you mean, 'the first one'?" Scott interrupted, confusion now spread entirely across his face. When Stiles didn't immediately respond, he pressed further, his eyes narrowing together. "Stiles!"

Stiles swallowed, his eyes slowly beginning to betray the fear that he had been feeling ever since the night before. The fear that he had been trying to ignore, to write-off as nonsense, but had still been unable to forget. "Last… last night, when I was in the bathroom, I filled the sink with water. I was going to shave, but then… then I saw something. I saw the hospital hallway, and people were running like crazy, they were panicked. And then I saw inside one of the rooms, and there were people asleep on the beds. Others were talking, saying that tons of people had fallen into comas and they wouldn't wake up. It was like a scene out of a movie…."

Stiles fell silent and Scott waited a moment, knowing there was more that his friend wasn't telling him. "Stiles," he pressed after a minute, "what happened after that?"

There was a beat, then Stiles took a breath. "After… after that, I saw… I saw the man in the mountain. I saw Ran Gore's face. He was laughing, and then the water turned black. It spilled over the sink and started covering the whole room, covering _everything_ – but then you started knocking on the door and it disappeared. I haven't seen anything else since."

Scott was silent for a long moment, before a deep frown began to set on his face. "And why are you only telling me about this now?" he asked, a hint of a growl rumbling at the back of his throat.

Stiles' own eyes narrowed at Scott in return and he straightened in his seat. "Oh, I don't know – maybe because before we were too busy running for our _lives_?!"

"We weren't running forever! You could have told me, and –."

"And what would you have done? Call me crazy and say I was just seeing things?!"

"Oh come on, Stiles – I would have believed you and you know it! You could at least have told me about last night –."

"That was probably just stress! I was tired and after everything that's happened, I –."

"Stiles, quit making excuses! You can't keep ignoring everything! What happened in the mountain was serious, and you're just –."

At that moment the doorbell rang and Scott and Stiles' argument was immediately silenced, as both boys turned to face the door. After a moment they heard Lydia's voice sound from behind it: "Scott? Stiles? Are you guys there?"

Stiles took a deep breath, steadying himself, then nodded at Scott. Scott got up and opened the door, revealing Lydia, Malia, and Liam standing behind it. "Finally!" Lydia said, and all three quickly came inside. Lydia looked Scott up and down once, before doing the same to Stiles. The anger on her face was tempered by the clear fear and worry that she must have been feeling all week. Malia and Liam looked to be in similar states of concern. "Are you guys okay?" Lydia asked, looking at each of them in turn.

"We're fine, Lydia," Scott said, giving her a small smile. "We just got a bit scraped up, that's all."

Malia stared at Stiles, her brows furrowed in a deep frown before turning back to Scott. "What the hell happened?"

Scott proceeded to relay their time in the mountains to them, clearly trying to downplay the seriousness of the situation as he spoke, but making sure to include most of what had happened to them over the time they'd been gone. Stiles found it difficult to concentrate on the story that he was quickly growing tired of, choosing instead to let his thoughts wander as he stared off into space, his fingers tapping absently against the table.

The images of Ran Gore staring at him through the water came back to him and he blinked, quickly pushing the image away. He'd told Scott that what he'd seen was just a residual effect of exhaustion and the experience of being in the mine, and he believed that – he had to, unless he wanted to go insane. But as Ran Gore's face grinned before his eyes, his laughter still ringing in his ears, Stiles couldn't help but wonder if maybe, somehow –

"And Stiles, you're okay, right?"

Stiles blinked, suddenly coming back to the conversation. He looked at the group to find everyone's eyes on him and he quickly fumbled over an answer to give. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just tired. And sore. I won't be going back to Colorado anytime soon, that's for sure." He did his best to give as realistic a grin as he could, and he hoped it was enough to satisfy them. Lydia and Malia gave him a hard stare for a few moments, their eyes determining if his words were really telling the truth. Eventually Lydia sighed and looked away, but Malia continued to stare. Stiles tried to ignore her and pretend he didn't notice, but he found the look unsettling; he was suddenly reminded of the look she'd given him at the diner, the weekend before they'd left. Almost as though she knew something, as though she were trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together….

"Well you two are never going on a trip by yourselves ever again, do you hear me?" Lydia stated firmly. She rose to her feet and it was then that Stiles realised just how frightened she appeared beneath the calm façade. They'd only been "missing" for four days, but clearly with all that they dealt with on a regular basis, four days had been four days too long.

"Don't worry Lydia," Stiles said with a soft smile. "We don't plan to any time too soon."

They spent the rest of the day at Stiles', sitting on the couch and watching TV, or wandering through the kitchen and finding something to eat. Scott was mostly recovered from their ordeal, but he still looked tired and haggard and didn't move much from his spot in one of the chairs. Stiles, however, spent the majority of the time curled up in the corner of one of the couches, drifting between sleep and consciousness. Bit by bit, as Liam and Malia argued over the television and Lydia spoke quietly with Scott, Stiles began to feel as though they were well and truly home.

* * *

The next day was spent much the same as the one before. Stiles felt significantly better the next morning, the exhaustion that had been plaguing him since they'd returned finally beginning to lift. Scott came over that afternoon by himself, holding his new phone that he'd gotten earlier that morning. "I got a text from one of the guys," he said, referring to one of their teammates at lacrosse. "They said Coach has scheduled a practice for Saturday morning. I told them we wouldn't be there, of course, and I –."

"Wait, what?" Stiles asked, sitting up in his seat on the couch. "Why'd you do that?"

Scott looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Uh, because we've only been back for barely two days? You're still healing, and you –."

"Scott, I'm feeling _way_ better than before. Seriously – I can move any way I want and it barely hurts!"

"Yeah, it 'barely' hurts – which means it _still_ hurts. I've already told them no, so –."

"Scott," Stiles interrupted, "we have been walking through mountains – over _and_ under them – while being chased by crazy, hermit psychos, thinking that weren't ever going to see daylight again. I've spent over forty-eight hours trapped in this house, and tomorrow will make nearly seventy-two. My dad hovers over me like I'm a little bird who fell from the nest, and he won't stop shoving food down my throat and insisting I need to _sleep_. I'm tired of eating, and believe it or not, I'm tired of sleeping. I want out, Scott – so please, _please_ can we go to lacrosse tomorrow?"

Scott pressed his lips together and gave Stiles a long look, as though determining whether he really was fit to go out and get slammed into and thrown around by a bunch of teenagers. He suddenly reached out and grabbed Stiles' wrist, refusing to let it go as black tendrils wove their way up his arm. After a few moments he let go and leaned back in the chair. "Well, you weren't lying," he admitted.

"Scott, would I ever lie to you?" Stiles asked innocently.

Scott just gave him a 'look', before taking out his phone and swiping it on, quickly tapping out a text. "Fine. But if anything happens and you start to hurt, you tell me, okay? And I'll know by your heartbeat if you're trying to bullshit me."

Stiles grinned, leaning back into the couch and putting his feet up. He honestly couldn't wait – anything to distract him from the unwanted memories of the past two weeks and get him out of the house, was more than enough for him.

* * *

Stiles pulled his lacrosse jersey over his shoulders, ignoring the stares that he was receiving from the other guys, whose eyes kept glancing towards the scar on the side of his face. He'd told them that he'd been in an accident over spring break and that he was fine, which thankfully most all seemed to accept. Their attention didn't really matter, though; all Stiles cared about was running until he was exhausted and forgetting as much about Ran Gore and that entire disaster as much as he could.

Scott watched his friend as they made their way out onto the field, his jaw set firmly together as he watched him begin doing warm-ups. Barely three days had passed since they'd returned from the mountains, and a quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered that three days was too soon to be out and running around like this, after all that they had went through. As a werewolf with far faster healing, it could be done – but a human should still be recovering, should still be taking it easy until their body was completely well again. But Stiles had insisted that he was okay, that he was in fact feeling more refreshed and energetic than ever; and after having listened to his heartbeat and felt for his pain, Scott couldn't deny that he was most likely telling the truth. But still, he was going to keep an extra eye on his friend today, no matter what.

The first forty minutes of practice went by in a blur and though Coach had been making them do suicide runs every fifteen minutes, Stiles still felt full of energy, never really tiring or feeling exhausted. He could still feel a few of the bruises along his side when he turned particularly far, but the aches quickly faded into the background as practice progressed. In fact, he felt better than he had all week.

"Hey Stilinski – I want you in goal for this next round, so get your ass moving!" Finstock yelled across the field.

"Sure thing, Coach!" Stiles shouted back, jogging over to the goal net. The sun was shining bright across the deep-blue sky, which was scattered with small, puffy-white clouds. The trees were beginning to relax and bud with new leaves of spring, a promise of the summer that would eventually come. As Stiles reached the net, he couldn't help but close his eyes as a breeze picked up, rustling over the trees and wrapping itself around his body. He took a deep breath, feeling more alive and connected to the Earth than he had in what felt like an age. He could feel the wind moving around him, could feel it moving through the branches of the trees and rolling over the dust on the ground. It were as though the life of the Earth were feeding him where the dirt met his feet and Stiles couldn't help but clench his fists, taking hold of the Earth's power for a brief moment, savouring it as it ran through his body – strengthening him, energizing him – before eventually letting go.

"Stilinski!" Coach's voice suddenly shouted from behind him. "Quit staring into the great wide yonder, and turn around and do your job! Everyone, line up and get ready to go!"

Stiles blinked and quickly turned around, lifting his stick and putting his attention back on the practice. Each team member took turns whipping the ball at Stiles and to everyone's surprise – including Stiles' – he blocked their shots every single time. Even Coach was left momentarily speechless, before blowing his whistle and telling everyone that if they had spent spring break practicing like Stiles had, maybe they all wouldn't suck so much.

Ten minutes later they stopped for a break and a few of the guys came up to Stiles, congratulating him on his performance and chatting about what they'd done on their spring break. Stiles gave a partial truth as he leaned against his lacrosse stick, telling them that he and Scott had gone out on a road trip and went hiking, which was how he'd gotten his scar. They continued talking for another few minutes until the automated sprinklers turned on about thirty-feet away from them. The two boys, who were faced away from them, kept on talking – asking about and revving each other up for the next game against Torrent High, and how maybe they'd actually beat them this year. Their conversation fell into the background, however, turning into silent noise as Stiles stared past them, his body suddenly going completely still. For behind them, standing within the mist of the water, was Ran Gore.

The man was standing tall, his dark eyes staring straight at Stiles, a wooden staff held in his right hand. When Stiles caught his eyes he smiled, the corners of his lips turning up in a grin. He looked nothing like the exuberant and charismatic man they'd met in the mountain; instead, he looked calculating, he looked threatening. He looked like a man having cornered his prey, and having found it exactly where he wanted.

Stiles' muscles were frozen where he stood, and his heart began to beat faster and faster. Gore's smile never wavered as he continued to hold Stiles' eyes with his own. After a moment his mouth slowly began to open and though Stiles could not hear him, he was able to make out the clear movements of his lips, as they formed one single word: _"Soon."_

The word reverberated through Stiles' body and he instinctually stepped back; at that moment the sprinklers stopped and Ran Gore disappeared with the mist.

Stiles stared into the empty space, noise suddenly coming back to him as he became aware of the two boys looking at him in concern and asking if he was okay. Stiles opened his mouth, trying to speak, trying to tell them to move, to run – because the man in the mountain was here, he was here in Beacon Hills and he was going to do something, he was going to hurt someone, he was going to _attack_ –

"Stiles! Stiles, are you all right?"

A hand on his arm snapped Stiles out of his stupor and he turned his head to see Scott standing beside him, his brows furrowed together as he looked at him in alarm. Stiles suddenly realised where he was and he glanced at the rest of the team around them, most of whom hadn't noticed his behaviour, but a few of which were sending him odd glances of bemused concern.

Stiles swallowed and suddenly grabbed hold of Scott's arm, his fingers squeezing hard as panic coursed through his veins. Scott could smell the fear rolling off him, could hear his heartbeat racing – it was what had alerted him that something was wrong in the first place – but he had no idea what was the matter. Stiles' grip tightened and his eyes were wide as he looked Scott in the eye. "Scott, Scott – he's here! I just saw him, he's here and –."

"Who? Who's here?" When Stiles didn't immediately answer him, Scott shook his arm. "Stiles, who did you see?!"

Stiles looked at Scott, his voice barely above a whisper when he spoke: _"Ran Gore."_

The muscles in Scott's body immediately tensed and he looked up, searching the grounds for any sign of the crazed man that they had met in the mountains. He sniffed the air, trying to find his scent, but the only thing he could notice was the smell of the fresh water against the grass. He looked back at Stiles. "I can't smell him," he said. He stared at his friend, whose eyes betrayed his fear and whose body seemed to be on the edge of full-blown panic. Scott mentally swore at himself, suddenly realising that although Stiles' body was almost healed, that didn't mean his mind was.

Scott grabbed Stiles' arm and began trying to lead him down the pitch and towards the lockers. "Come on," he said as lightly as he could, "let's go home."

Stiles broke from Scott's grasp – a surprising feat, considering Scott's inhuman strength – and stepped back, glaring at Scott with narrowed eyes. "He was here, Scott! I'm not lying!"

"And I'm not saying you are! But it's barely been three days since we got back, and you should be taking it easy! We both should!"

Stiles glared at his friend, anger slowly growing hot under his skin as he took a step back, rubbing his hand against his chest. This was _exactly_ what he'd hated about Scott ever since he'd been turned – that somehow he now believed that he was his leader, that he was his _alpha_ and so could tell him what to do whenever he wanted, expecting him to obey. But Stiles wasn't that helpless damsel in distress that he had been back when Scott had first been bit; no. Now he could take care of himself, he could save himself and save others, too. He _had_ saved them, he'd saved _all_ of them – and this was the thanks he got? To be treated like a child, to be taken and hidden away like some crazed lunatic? "I'm not lying, Scott," he said quietly, his teeth clenched together as he fought to keep his voice under control.

Scott stared back at him, his body going still as the sudden rush of anger – no, _fury_ – surged from his friend, slamming against his nose with a painful force. The sudden change in Stiles' demeanor startled him and his senses instinctually went on alert, sensing the sudden danger. A strong breeze suddenly picked up, running across the field and pushing against Scott's chest. He steadied himself and a chill spread through his veins when he caught Stiles' eyes, and saw that they were covered in a blue mist. He glanced at Stiles' hands and noticed they were clenched tightly into fists; the wind was now gusting through the field and most of the players had stopped what they were doing, trying to right themselves so as not to be pushed to the ground, making startled noises in surprise. With panic rushing through his chest, Scott quickly looked back at Stiles. "Stiles!" he said incredulously, trying to speak as quietly as he could.

As quickly as it began, the anger in Stiles' face fell away and he blinked, as though suddenly realising what he was doing. He glanced at his fists, then up a the pitch, where the rest of the team was still fighting to stay standing against the wind. Stiles quickly released his hands and like a cord being cut, the wind came to an immediate stop. He turned back to Scott, staring at him in stunned silence. "I – I didn't, I didn't realise –."

"It's fine," Scott quickly said. "But we should get out of here." He ran over to Coach and explained that they weren't feeling well, and were going to go home. Finstock wasn't at all happy about that, but after giving some haphazard excuses and exaggerated coughs, he finally let them go.

Scott jogged back over to Stiles before heading towards the school building. Stiles walked after him, giving one last glance towards the damp grass that lay between the sprinklers, before following Scott through the doors and into the locker room.

Scott was already taking off his jersey and his gear when Stiles came in, his lacrosse stick laying on one of the benches. Stiles made to move towards him, to start taking off his own gear, but the image of Ran Gore smiling at him in the mist wouldn't go away, and he knew that he had to say something now, or it would just be brushed under the rug again. "Scott," he said quietly. Scott stopped what he was doing and looked up at him, his face etched with lines of wary concern. Stiles ignored it and continued: "Scott, Ran Gore was there. I saw him. I'm not lying and I'm not just seeing things – he was really there. He was in the mist, when the sprinklers turned on."

Scott bit his lower lip, taking a deep breath before he spoke: "Stiles, you heard what Darius said – Gore is tied to that mountain; he can't get out. And we're over twelve hours away from him – how could he get here?"

"Darius could be wrong; he might not know what Ran Gore can do now. It's been a hundred years since he was trapped there, he could… he could have found a way out –."

"Darius and his pack have lived near that mountain for centuries; if something had changed, they would have known."

Stiles fought for words that would convince him, that would convince Scott that what he had seen was real; that somehow, some way, Gore had escaped from the mountain and he had followed them back to Beacon Hills, and now… and now….

Stiles shook his head and started to take off his jersey and his equipment, stuffing them in his locker as he changed into his clothes. They left the room a few minutes later in silence, heading across the grass and towards the parking lot, where they made their way into Stiles' jeep. Stiles stared into the distance as he started to drive, his fingers clenched tightly around the leather of the steering wheel.

Maybe Scott was right. Maybe he _was_ just seeing things, maybe… maybe he was more messed up from what had happened in the mountains than he had thought. Darius didn't seem like a liar and Scott had known of him for years before now, he trusted him… so maybe it was all just in Stiles' head. Gore's face in the water the night they had gotten back, seeing him appear in front of him today… it could all just be a figment of his imagination, a by-product of having been more frightened by the mine and the man than even he realised.

As Stiles dropped Scott off at his house, he determined that he would go home and spend the rest of the day relaxing, and doing nothing but watch mindless television and listen to music. He would go to bed early and get as much sleep as he could.

And then tomorrow, he would go to the library and find out all that he could – every word and every mention – about Tristan Jacobson and the town in the mountains.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for waiting for this next chapter. School is now finished, so regular updates should now be getting back on track :)

This was a bit of a "shorter" chapter (for me, anyways), but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Next chapter should be pretty fun ;)

Thank you to all those who have left reviews - your support keeps me going!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: All right folks, grab your coffees and your bookmarks - this is a long one!

* * *

Stiles stared at the computer screen, squinting at the small writing that he was currently trying to read. His hand gently touched the machine beside him, pushing it forward ever-so-slightly, reading the article as closely as he could. He'd asked Mr. Torrington, the school's computer teacher, if he could use the Microfilm Reader to go through some old newspapers they had in the archives, ones that came from numerous towns and cities in California, along with a number of other places in the States – including Colorado.

He'd been researching since seven that morning and it was now six o'clock in the evening. He'd tried looking for books to find any information he could on the small town in the mountains, but he'd had no luck, aside from learning a lot about coal-mining in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It wasn't until an hour ago that he'd finally landed on a few names of small towns that had been around in the early twentieth century, in the area of the mountains where he and Scott had been. He'd narrowed it down to three, and then to two, until at last he'd found the newspaper of a very small village, which had a picture of its main street on the front cover – the same street that he and Scott had walked down in their search of help after escaping the mountain.

That had been nearly forty minutes ago, and he'd been searching through the microfilm ever since. He had been about to give up, nearly ready to throw his hands in the air and admit he'd never find it, when, with the quickest glimpse of an eye, he saw it.

Tristan Jacobson _._

Stiles' hand froze on the reader, his heart skipping a beat as he read the name over again, and again and again, until finally his eyes went to the top and he started reading the article from the beginning.

 _Operations of the Hillview Mine will begin in two weeks. Owner and operator, Mr. Tristan Jacobson, has stated that he looks forward to providing employment for over one hundred men, who will dig into the mountain and extract valuable coal which will be sent to refineries elsewhere in Colorado and surrounding States. Mr. Jacobson says he plans to harness the power of water to run many of the mining operations, including the operation of its elevators. When asked about the opportunities this mine will give to the town of Spring Creek, Jacobson says that, should all go according to plan, within fifteen years the town should see a boom unlike any other ever experienced by coal-mining towns throughout the mountains: "There is an underground river that runs through the mountain. Its current will provide enough power to run the mine practically by itself. All that is needed is enough manpower, which will create the tunnels and rooms needed to extract all the coal and minerals that is able to be removed from the mountain. Within ten years this will be one of the greatest mines south of 49. In fifteen, we will be the envy of all."_

 _Not all, however, are as eager as Mr. Jacobson to see the mine begin operations. Mr. Daniel Asterleigh, a former employee of Mr. Jacobson, claims that Mr. Jacobson is too greedy, and that no good will come of the mine. "Tristan Jacobson may provide men with jobs, but he will run them into the ground to get what he wants. Jacobson is a greedy and power-hungry man. Having had the displeasure to work for him a few years ago, I can safely say that I will never work for him again, no matter what price he pays."_

Stiles' eyes caught the markered-writing at the edge of the film, scribbled in quick handwriting along the side: _For more on Tristan Jacobson and the Hillview Mine, see April 19_ _th_ _, 1911._

In a flash, Stiles pressed the button and spun the microfilm out, removing it and setting it on the table. He grabbed the box of film to his left and searched through it, until at last he found the date he was looking for. With shaking hands he spread the film out, setting it in place before closing the glass. He rubbed his hand against his chest as the screen turned on and the words came into focus. It took no time at all this time to find the article he was looking for, as it was clearly stated in large letters on the front page: "Hillview Owner Tristan Jacobson Missing, Presumed Dead."

 _Hillview Mine owner and operator Tristan Jacobson, who opened the mine ten years ago this week, went for a hike yesterday morning and has not been seen since. Expected for a meeting yesterday evening, Mr. Jacobson did not arrive. This morning a search party was sent to find him, but the spring blizzard earlier this week has hampered search efforts. Mr. Jacobson, who is known for his punctuality and professionalism, has not been seen in nearly forty-eight hours, and with the bears just coming out of hibernation and temperatures expected to dip below freezing, it is highly unlikely he will be found alive._

 _Jacobson, the owner and operator of the highly successful Hillview Mine, was forty-seven years old._

Stiles leaned back in chair, looking over the article once more. So Jacobson – Ran Gore – had started this mine, then disappeared in 1911 after going for a "hike". Yeah, he was pretty sure he knew where he ended up….

A loud ring broke the silence of the library and Stiles jumped, eyes searching for the noise until they landed on his phone, which was sitting on the table by the keyboard. He quickly grabbed it, noting the name and picture on the screen: Lydia.

Swiping to the right, Stiles brought the phone to his ear, his eyes drifting back to the black and white article on the screen. "Hello?"

 _"_ _Stiles, where have you been all day? We've been texting you, but you haven't answered! You're lucky Scott said you were at the library, or you really would have started worrying people."_

Stiles briefly held his phone back, and it was then that he saw the number of missed texts that were at the top of his screen. He grimaced, running a hand over his face in exhaustion before moving it down and rubbing it against his chest absently. "I'm sorry Lydia," he said tiredly. The lack of food from missing both breakfast and lunch was catching up with him. "I've been trying to do some research, and I guess I lost track of time."

There was a pause, before Lydia let out a sigh. _"It's all right, Stiles,"_ she said. _"As long as you're okay. But hey, we were wondering – we're planning on going out for supper at Joe's Pizza. Did you want to come?"_

The mere sound of food was enough to make Stiles' mouth water and he quickly began saving the articles into pdfs, throwing them onto this flash drive. "Yeah, yeah that sounds great! When are you guys meeting?"

 _"_ _We'll be there in twenty minutes."_

"Okay, I'll see you then."

 _"_ _Bye, Stiles."_

The call ended and Stiles clicked off his phone, shoving it in his back pocket. He put the microfilms away and shut off the machine, pushing the chair back and heading out the door. Though it took nearly twelve hours, he was glad he at least found something of what he was looking for. Ever since the incident at practice yesterday, he hadn't been able to get Ran Gore out of his head; he'd tried to write it off, tried to make himself believe that what he'd seen had just been a figment of his imagination, a consequence of a traumatized and overly-strained mind. Scott had said afterward that he believed him, that maybe Ran Gore was indeed here, somehow – that Stiles wasn't just seeing things; but Stiles knew that Scott was just trying to appease him, trying to calm him down so that he wouldn't freak out like he did the other day, when he'd been so angry that he could have just snapped his stupid lacrosse stick and thrown it as his friend, because for fuck's sake, he'd known what he'd seen, so why didn't Scott – his best friend, his _brother_ – why didn't he fuckin' believe him?! Why didn't he –

Stiles pressed the palms of his hands hard against his eyes, taking a moment to breathe as he pushed the bubbling anger back down. After a moment he dropped his hands back down and made his way out of the library.

At supper Scott asked Stiles if he'd found anything interesting, and Stiles told him about the two articles discussing Tristan Jacobson. Scott said he'd like to have a look at them and asked if he could come over that evening. Stiles wanted to say yes, wanted to spend a night just relaxing on the couch and playing video games, but the energy that he'd had for the past few days had finally begun to wane, and he figured he'd try and get an early night before heading back to school the next day. Dinner was the first time all five of them had really been back together since Scott and Stiles had returned, and to Stiles' surprise it was shockingly void of concerned questions and worried looks. For a moment, it almost felt as though everything were back to normal. He spent the rest of the evening with his dad, talking about the latest cases the Sheriff's office was facing and any leads that they had so far. He didn't stay up for long, however, his constant yawning prompting his father to all but order him to go to bed, which Stiles eventually did.

* * *

The next morning Stiles woke with a headache thrumming behind his temples. He got dressed and grabbed his things together, popping a few Advil in his mouth before heading out the door. He got in his jeep and drove to the school, parking in his usual stall, where Scott arrived on his bike a few minutes later. They walked into the school together and as they did, Stiles handed Scott a copy of the articles that he'd printed out the night before. "Here. It's all that I could find on Ran Gore. Before he became a murderous psychopath, anyway."

Scott scanned the articles over briefly as they made their way to their lockers; he looked up after a few moments and saw Liam and Hayden standing a few feet away, watching them expectantly. Scott quickly folded the paper and put it in his pocket. "Hey guys," he said as they stopped in front of them. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Liam replied, and Hayden offered a smile.

The three proceeded to discuss when they'd be meeting next for training and Stiles let them talk, moving past them and opening his locker door. He rubbed his chest before moving his hand to the back of his neck, which was unusually hot. His throat began to tickle and he coughed a few times, trying to clear it. He shoved his bag inside the locker as he did, expecting the irritation to go away, but it didn't. Instead it continued, growing more and more painful with each and every cough. He covered his mouth with his arm, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could, but soon all he could think about was the cough that was trying tear its way through his throat, and the sudden and painful pressure that was increasing within his chest. He struggled to get air, to take a breath, to _breathe_ – but he couldn't; it was like something had grabbed his lungs and was now squeezing tighter and tighter, until he couldn't breathe and he was _trying_ to breathe, but he couldn't _breathe,_ _he couldn't breathe and_ –

Suddenly there was a fist pounding on his back and Stiles felt something slip inside his chest. Without warning his lungs opened up and he sucked in a great breath, taking in as much air as he could. It was after a few moments of desperate breathing that he realised someone was talking to him: "Stiles, hey Stiles – are you all right?!"

Stiles wiped his hand across his mouth, removing the spittle that fallen across his lips, and he looked up to see Scott staring at him in frightened worry. Stiles glanced back at Liam and Hayden, who were also looking at him in concern. He quickly nodded, pushing Scott's hand away. "Yeah – yeah, I'm fine. Just got something got caught in my throat, that's all." Scott frowned, worry still marring the edge of his features, but he didn't say anything more. A few minutes later Liam and Hayden said their goodbyes and disappeared into the hall.

When they were gone Scott slowly began grabbing his things, though he continued to glance at Stiles every few seconds. Stiles grabbed his books and gritted his teeth together, trying to ignore the werewolf, but he couldn't. He felt as though he could physically feel his eyes on him; as though he could literally feel his concern and worry blanketing him – _suffocating_ him. After a few moments Scott's quiet voice finally spoke: "Hey Stiles, are you sure you're all right? Your heart is still beating pretty fast, and –."

A loud bang resounded throughout the hallway as Stiles slammed his locker shut, causing Scott to jump in surprise. Stiles turned, his eyes narrowed in a vicious glare at the other man. "Would you stop fucking _listening_ to my fucking _heart_?!" he shouted. A few of the kids around them turned to look at the sudden commotion, but as the final warning bell rang, they turned back and continued on and passed them by.

Scott stared at Stiles in shock, taken aback by his friend's sudden outburst. He opened his mouth, hesitating a few times before speaking. "Stiles, I –."

"I don't _need_ your fuckin' concern, Scott!" Stiles interrupted angrily. "The entire time we were in that mountain, that's all you fuckin' did! 'Are you okay?' 'Are you feeling all right?' 'Do you need me to help you walk?' Well guess what, Scott? I'm not your fucking _damsel in distress_. I am stronger than you could ever fucking _hope_ to be – I can do things you can only _wish_ you could do. So don't fuckin' _patronize_ me –."

Scott could hear Stiles' heartbeat racing in his chest and could smell the anger rolling off him. Then suddenly, something hit Scott's nose that he wasn't prepared for – smoke. He looked round as Stiles continued to shout at him, searching for the source of the smell, when suddenly his eyes landed on Stiles' books, which were being held in his arms. Stiles' fingers held the edges of the cover like vice grips and as Scott looked closer his eyes began to widen, as he realised that Stiles' hands were starting to smoke and the area of the cover surrounding his fingers were beginning to turn black. Scott's eyes snapped up to Stiles, who was continuing to yell. It was then that Scott saw his irises begin to darken and a red mist slowly appear.

Without warning Scott grabbed Stiles' books, ripping them from his hands. Scott saw the confusion momentarily overtake Stiles' face, before being replaced with fury once more, the red mist around his eyes thickening. Scott had to push down the urge to roar and subdue his pack-member, that his instincts were screaming was becoming a threat with every passing second.

For a moment, Stiles fought back. He grabbed Scott's wrist and Scott nearly swore as he felt his skin begin to burn. But then suddenly the burning stopped and Stiles' grip fell away. Scott looked past the books to see Stiles staring at them in stunned silence.

Stiles stared at the book that Scott was holding in front of him, his eyes falling over the blackened handprint that now adorned its cover. The burns were deep, looking almost as though someone had taken a hot iron and pressed it hard against the wooden-covered plastic, leaving permanent black grooves in its place.

There was silence for a few moments until Stiles finally looked up at Scott, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I – I didn't… I didn't mean to do that."

Scott stared incredulously at Stiles' hands, before looking back at his eyes, which were now back to their normal brown, absent of any mist. "Stiles, that… that wasn't air or, or earth. That was fir –."

"I know," Stiles quickly interrupted. He grabbed the books from Scott, pressing his hands firmly against the covers. "I know."

"Has this… has this ever happened before? Aside from Givens?"

Stiles remained silent, but that was all the answer that Scott needed. By now the halls had mostly cleared, with only a few stragglers lagging behind. Scott looked Stiles up and down, taking note of the greased look of his hair, and the small sheen of sweat reflecting off his brow. "Stiles, maybe you should go home," he said. "You don't look so good."

Stiles wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and he took his books from Scott, holding them tight against his chest. "No, I'm fine."

Scott frowned, giving Stiles a stern stare. "Stiles, I'm serious – you don't look well, and you smell… you smell _off_. I think you're sick, man."

Stiles just shook his head, taking a deep breath. "I'm fine, Scott – seriously. I don't… I don't know what came over me, but I'm not going home. I spent four days thinking I'd never see this damn place again, and I'm not going to run off just because I might be under the weather. Besides, if I want to graduate, I can't be missing any more classes – you know that."

Scott did know that; he was in the exact same boat. Their attendance record for the past three years would be laughable, if it didn't pose such a danger to actually receiving their diplomas. But at the moment he didn't care about that; all he cared about was making sure that his friend, who had gone through more in the past six months than Scott ever wished to know, was okay; and after what had just happened, Scott was no longer sure he was.

But Stiles was right. He couldn't tell him what to do, no matter what his instincts as an alpha wanted. So with a sigh, Scott finally relented and nodded his head. "Okay, then – we better get to class."

Stiles smiled and Scott returned it with his own; whatever animosity that had been between them before now completely gone, as it most often did between them. Scott let Stiles move past him as they headed to home-room, watching as he lifted his hand and rubbed it against his chest. Scott frowned, but said nothing as he followed, hoping instead that whatever illness Stiles had, would quickly go away.

But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, no matter how much he tried to act as though it wasn't there, Scott could not get rid of the feeling that something – somewhere – was about to go horribly wrong.

* * *

Stiles tried to ignore what had happened earlier that morning, tried to chalk it up to having been nothing more than a mix of stress and exhaustion. But there were only so many times he could do that, before the excuse lost its meaning all together. He stared at his hand that was held open in front of him, ignoring the lecture on biology that Mr. Sullivan was currently giving at the front of the class. He followed the lines in his palm and the prints in his fingers, wondering how on earth he had just used the element of Fire, something he had been trying – and failing – to do for the past six months. Stiles' chest began to ache and he pressed his other hand against it, trying to massage the pain away. Maybe Scott was right, maybe he should have gone home; maybe he wasn't as well as he thought he was….

Suddenly Stiles' chest constricted and flames flashed in his hand, before abruptly disappearing into smoke. Stiles jumped and immediately closed his hand, warmth spreading through his fingers and up his arm. He looked up to see if anyone had noticed, but thankfully no one was looking at him. He clenched his teeth together and ran a hand through his hair, wondering what on earth was going on. He was happy to finally have control over fire, thrilled, even – Alayna had said they would all come eventually – but it would be nice if they didn't start spazzing out in the middle of class.

By fourth period Stiles was feeling a bit better, but he still couldn't get rid of the nagging headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes. He ended up digging into his bag for the bottle of Advil that he kept on hand – because not everyone had magical healing powers like werewolves – and took a few more pills, hoping that it would soon take away the aches in his shoulders and the thrumming pain in his head.

At lunch everyone agreed to meet in the forest at their training spot near the river; it had been nearly three weeks since they'd last met, and in an effort to make things feel as though they were back to normal, they figured a good day of training would be the best thing to do.

Stiles stepped over the branches and trees that had fallen over the path as they made their way through the woods, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. The sky was clouded in grey, casting a rather dismal atmosphere across the forest. He fought back a shiver, futilely hoping that none of his werewolf, werecoyote, and banshee friends would notice. Thankfully, though, no one said anything, and they continued to walk for another ten minutes, until they finally reached the river.

He could feel the Earth surround him, its energy trying to feed him and give him warmth, but whatever illness Stiles had caught – yes, he was willing to admit that he might indeed be sick – was having none of it, and Stiles continued to feel more and more like crap. He didn't say anything though, as he wanted to spend the day with his friends, of whom he hadn't properly spent much time with in what felt like an age.

"Okay Liam," Scott said as they arrived in their usual clearing. "You head over there and spar with Malia for a while; I'll stay here with Lydia. We'll try and work on your scream again, is that okay?" Lydia nodded and the two stepped further towards the river. Scott quickly looked over his shoulder at Stiles, who was just in the middle of sitting down on an old, fallen tree. "Stiles, you good?" he asked.

Stiles nodded as he sat down, taking a deep breath of fresh air as he leaned back against the tree. He wrapped his coat tighter around him and he closed his eyes, letting the Earth seep into his skin and provide whatever little comfort it could. Stiles took a moment to be thankful that he had his powers back, his thoughts turning briefly back to the mountains when his powers had randomly decided to stop working. He hadn't had much time to think about it since then, as other – far more pressing – events had taken primary focus, but now he couldn't help but wonder if what had happened was normal or not, and whether or not it would happen again.

Twenty minutes passed, and then forty, before Stiles' legs began to ache along with every other part of his body. The group had now switched, and Scott was working with Liam while Lydia was teaching Malia techniques to help keep her calm when angered. After a few more minutes Stiles stood up, supressing a cough that was trying to scratch its way through his throat. Scott still heard the noise, however, and turned to look at him with a questioning gaze. "I'm fine," Stiles said quickly, shaking his head. "I'm just going to go for a walk for a bit, stretch my legs."

"All right," Scott replied, though his voice was hesitant. "If you're sure."

Stiles couldn't help but roll his eyes as he turned away and began heading into the trees. "I'm sure."

He walked absently through the forest, with no particular destination in mind other than to just walk and to enjoy the elements around him, however muted they were. Eventually his thoughts turned to the incident that had happened that morning, and how – through no intentional effort of his own – he'd managed to finally use the element of Fire. It hadn't exactly been in the right place at right time, admittedly – but Stiles couldn't help but feel relief at having finally gained access to another element.

Stiles slowly came to a stop by the river's edge and lifted his hand, staring at his palm, a small frown tugging down at his lips. After a moment he closed his eyes, took a breath, and focused.

He felt his chest warm, and a few seconds later he could feel something tingling in his hand and he opened his eyes, looking down to see a bundle of flames sitting in his palm and dancing around his fingers. Stiles couldn't stop the small smile of awe that pulled at his lips, as he watched the fire wrap itself around his hand and begin to circle round his wrist. And to think, all that was needed was Scott to piss him off….

Suddenly the flames grew larger and without warning there was a small burst, and the flames fell off his hand and onto the ground. The grass quickly caught fire and began to burn. Stiles flailed in panic and immediately began stepping on them, trying to put them out as fast as he could. Instead of dying, however, they only spread further. Finally Stiles took off his coat and got on his knees, smacking the jacket against the flames to try and suffocate them; but then his hands erupted into flame once more and his jacket became washed in fire. He stared at it in stunned silence for a moment, before reaching out his hands, trying to think of something, anything to –

A gust of wind burst forth from his outstretched fingertips, pushing the fire further along the riverside, engulfing more and more grass with each passing second.

Stiles could only stare in disbelief. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_ –

Then suddenly, the water on the river's edge rose, swelling above the rocks and seeping into the ground, until it was running over the fire, covering the flames and snuffing them out in seconds. Stiles stared with wide eyes; was that – had he…? Did he just –

"Here, why don't you let me help with that?"

Stiles' head snapped up, and his eyes met those of Ran Gore.

There was silence for a moment as the two men stared at each other, nothing to be heard but the wind through the trees and the water running through the river.

Stiles slowly rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him. His teeth were clenched tightly together, his eyes set in a hard stare; he gripped his fingers into fists, every muscle in his body growing taught.

Ran Gore was there – right in front of him. He wasn't an illusion, he wasn't a figment of his imagination – he was real. And he was _here_.

But this time, Stiles wasn't going to let him go without a fight.

Stiles raised his hand towards Gore, gathered the air in his palm, and released. The wind burst forth in a violent wave, heading straight towards the man in front of him, but rather than being caught off guard, Gore merely stepped to the side, a smile stretching across his lips. The wind missed and crashed into a tree, splitting it in half.

Gore's smile morphed into a grin. "My, it looks like someone has found their powers again, haven't they?"

Stiles glared, raising his hand once more. "How the hell are you here?" he spat. "You're supposed to be trapped in your mountain – in your prison that your idiotic greed got you stuck in a hundred years ago!"

Gore tutted his tongue, giving Stiles a faux look of surprise. "My, my," he said, beginning to circle in front of him, "looks like someone has been doing their research. Tell me, who is it that has been spreading such _terrible_ lies about me?"

Stiles didn't answer; instead, he gathered another sphere of wind in his hand and sent it rushing forwards. Again, Gore merely stepped out of the way and the wind flew past, crashing and breaking into another tree. Stiles silently swore. "I know who you are," he said as Gore made his way behind him. "And I know how you got imprisoned in that mountain – _Tristan Jacobson_."

Instead of surprise, Gore merely smiled in understanding. "Ah, I see – you've been talking to Darius. That old wolf is still hanging about? How is he doing? He and I go way back, you know."

Stiles frowned, wondering what the man meant, but he refused to let himself be sidetracked. Once more he spread his fingers, but this time instead of gathering the wind, he latched onto the Earth – or, more precisely, the branches of the trees. In the blink of an eye he snapped one of the narrowed-branches off and sent it flying forward, straight into Ran Gore's back. This time Gore didn't move and the limb penetrated, impaling him through to the other side. But rather than seeing blood or pain, Stiles only saw water and Gore's sickening smile.

Gore took the branch and moved it casually through his side until it had passed through his body, and then dropped it on the ground. It was soaked through with water.

Stiles looked up at Gore in confusion, and it was then that he realised, as Gore shimmered in the light, that the man wasn't actually here – not physically, at least. Rather, he was just an image – a mirage. A mirage made entirely of water.

Gore grinned as understanding dawned on Stiles' features, and he started to walk around him once more. As though to prove Stiles' supposition, he walked past the rocks on the river's edge and onto the water, his feet never breaking its surface. "You escaped my mountain," he said, his voice holding a edge of respect. "I wondered if you would. There are great prophecies of you, after all." He clucked his tongue. "But you left without a parting gift! What a terribly rude thing to do." He smiled. "But no matter. I was still able to give you a gift before you left the mountains. And now, in return – you have given _me_ a gift. A great gift. And I thank you for it."

Stiles followed Gore as he moved around him, never letting him see his back. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked. "You didn't give me anything, you bast –."

"Oh, but I did! I have ways of reaching outside the mountain than you, or even Darius himself realise. But that is no matter. What's done is done, and now all you need to do is sit back and enjoy the show. Besides, you'll soon be mine, anyway, whether you like it or not."

A deep sense of foreboding coursed through Stiles' veins and his heart skipped a beat, as fear began to thrum through his veins. "So what," he said, trying to bide time as he tried to figure out what to do. "You just randomly like to capture people that happen to wander in your mountain? Let them walk in the dark until they starve and die? Do you eat them for food right away, or keep them in a fridge for later?"

Gore's lips twisted in a dark grin, and Stiles suddenly wished he hadn't asked. "What happened a hundred years ago wasn't a mistake," he said, continuing to walk. He stepped out onto the water once more. "The people of that town were meant to feed me for a hundred years, and they did – they served their purpose, and they served it well. But now I need more. My energy is waning, and it's time to find another batch."

"So what? You just spend a hundred years eating their flesh? That's what you do to keep alive? You sick bastard –."

"Oh goodness, dear boy – is that what Darius has told you? What an awful thought! I am far more dignified than that." His eyes never left Stiles' as he made his way back onto the ground, his feet drifting through one of the fallen trees, readjusting itself as he stepped past. "No. It's not the flesh of a human that I need to stay alive, boy – it's their _soul_." Stiles took a step back as Gore drew closer. "To be honest, I didn't know how I was going to find more souls to feed on, what with my being trapped inside a mountain, and all." He caught Stiles' eye and a small grin tugged at his lips. "But then, something happened six months ago that I'd never felt before. It was like a powerful wave of energy had pulsated through the earth, through the air, through the water. I knew what it was right away, of course – I know the prophecies as well as any other. The _Blessed_ had awoken.

"At first, I thought nothing of it. Being imprisoned as I am, what good would the _Blessed_ do for me? But then I started to think, and I realised that you could be far more useful than I thought. The soul of a human can keep me alive for years; but the soul of the _Blessed_ – now _that_ could do far more than I could even dare to dream. So I started to plan. And I sent you an invitation, cordially inviting you to come visit. That the True Alpha was with you, was only an added bonus."

Stiles' brows furrowed in confusion. "Invitation? What invitation? You didn't send anythi –." The memories of telling Darius about the letter, and how no one in the Colorado Pack – including Darius himself – seemed to know anything about it, came back to him, and his heart fell in his chest as he realised what had happened. "You sent it," he said slowly. "You sent the letter, not Darius. You – _you_ brought us to the mountains, you lured us there, like – like –."

"Like a fish on a hook, yes."

Stiles continued to stare in disbelief, the new information rapidly trying to sort itself in his mind. Thunder cracked loudly above them as the skies began to grow dark, but Stiles paid it no attention. "But… but if you knew that I was an Elemental, if you knew of my power, then why – how could you think that I'd –."

"Ah, yes, your _powers_." Gore spat the last word out of his mouth with vehemence, as though it were something distasteful on his tongue. "Well I've been planning this for a long time, it certainly wasn't a spur of the moment decision. So of course, as you implied, I would need to find a way to subdue the famed _Blessed's_ powers if I hoped to kill him; just long enough at least, for him to be rendered momentarily helpless, so that I could take his soul. It was quite easy, in the end. All I needed to do was infect you, poison you long enough that, by the time you entered the mountain, you would be completely useless to fight back. Tell me, _Blessed_ – do you know just how many diseases a rodent can carry?"

Stiles blinked once, before his eyes widened in understanding. "That – that… _you?!_ My powers, the reason they stopped working – you _planned_ that? You sent that racoon – that _creature_ , whatever it was – you sent it knowing that I would find it, and that it would attack me –."

"Of course. Killing thousands of people and stealing the soul of the _Blessed_ doesn't happen on a whim, you know. I have been planning this since the moment you awoke. But I must admit, you are more resilient than I gave you credit for. Or should I say, the bond you share with the True Alpha is far more powerful than I had expected."

Stiles frowned, looking at the man once more in bemusement. "What are you talking about?"

"You may be an Elemental, but the power of water is _my_ domain. Only _I_ am its true master, and only _I_ can use it to all of its capabilities. The Water has been mine since the day I was _born_." Gore stopped walking and gestured to his right. A mist of water appeared in the air and shimmered once, before the image of a person began to form. Stiles watched as the person – the girl – came into focus, and as it became clearer and clearer, Stiles realised with a start that he recognised her.

It was the girl from the lake. The one that he'd rescued, the one that the four other swimmers had tried to help, which had caused them to get trapped in the reeds and nearly drown. It was the girl that Stiles had never seen before and had never seen again – until now.

Gore took note of Stiles' stare. "Yes, she's a pretty thing, isn't she? I fashioned her after one of the young women whose soul I took all those years ago. Hers was quite energetic, if I remember."

"So… what?" Stiles asked, turning his eyes to Gore. "You were trying to drown me? Is that what you were wanting to do?"

"Drown you, dear boy? Why of course not! You clearly do not yet know just how powerful the elements can be. No; I wasn't trying to kill you. The Water can do far greater things than you realise; had I been successful, I would have brought you to my mountain at that moment – we would have had such fun together, you and I, before I ripped out your soul. And I would have had you, too, if your _True Alpha_ hadn't gotten in the way. He is a rather troublesome thing, isn't he? He's one of the most dangerous creatures I know. After you, of course."

Stiles straightened, lifting his head as he looked Ran Gore in the eye. A crack of thunder boomed loudly above them, followed quickly by another. The thunder shook the ground, like that of a war drum beating in the distance. "So what is it you want? Why are you here? Is it me you're after? Because if I am all you want, then I will gladly come back to the mountains and I'll kill you myself."

Gore threw his head back and laughed, his voice echoing alongside the thunder. After a few moments, he gathered himself back together, his smile still stretched wide across his face. "Oh my dear boy, I assure you – while yours will be the greatest soul to add to my collection, you are not the only reason I am here. No. I have lasted a hundred years so far, looking no older than the age I was when I first took my powers. But my strength is waning; the souls I took are now all used up. I need more. And I have chosen your little town of _Beacon Hills_ to become my next supplier. And it's all thanks _you_.

"You see, when you left the mountains, you took more back with you than just your memories and your scars. You took back with you a connection – one that has now established itself with me, a connection that I will soon use to bring all the souls of your town to my mountain, leaving behind a wonderful mausoleum of death and decay – and I will feed on them for one, maybe even two-hundred years! And it's all thanks to you, my dear boy.

"But of course, I'll need energy, if I am to accomplish what I desire. And without any more towns nearby, I suppose I will have to use whatever options are available."

Stiles knew immediately what Gore was saying and he glared at the other man in fury. "You leave them alone," he said. Fire burst forth from his hands and engulfed his arms, the ground beneath them beginning to shake. "You leave all of them alone! They've done nothing to you!"

The smile from Gore's lips fell away and his eyes darkened. "Oh believe me, child – Darius and his little pack have done more to me than you will ever know. And I assure you, I'll only be too happy to pay them their dues."

Stiles thrust his hands towards Gore and the fire flew towards him, crashing over him and into the trees behind him. Stiles didn't give him any moment to retaliate, as he grabbed the wind and lashed it like a whip. The wind cut into Gore's body, breaking through the mist and momentarily disrupting his image, but which quickly reformed after. Anger welled in Stiles' chest and coursed through his veins, and for a moment, all he could see was red.

* * *

Scott looked through the trees, wondering where Stiles had managed to go off to. They had switched partners again, Liam now working with Lydia as Scott worked with Malia. Malia's voice suddenly sounded, bringing Scott out of his thoughts. "Scott?"

Scott continued to stare into the woods, about ready to start smelling where Stiles had gone. "Yeah?" he asked absently.

"Since when can Stiles make fire with his hand?"

Scott's head whipped so violently around back to Malia he could almost hear his neck snap. He could see Liam behind her off near the river, who had suddenly stopped what he was doing and was now looking at them with wide eyes. Malia's eyes were dark and her stare was hard, showing that her question was far from joking.

Finally, Scott managed to speak. "Wh – what are you talking about? Who on earth told you that Stiles could… why would even you _think_ something like that?"

"I saw it, in biology today. I was sitting a few seats behind him when he started staring at his hand. Then suddenly fire just… just _appeared_ in his palm. It went out right away, but when Stiles looked around, he didn't look shocked or surprised – he just looked panicked. But when he found out no one was looking, he relaxed. I guess he didn't see me."

Scott gaped, completely at a loss of what to say. Malia, she – she had seen, she had _seen_ , and –

"Is this what you two have been hiding? I've known something was up with him for a while, but I –."

Suddenly there was a deafening crack of thunder and the ground shook. Scott looked up and suddenly realised how dark the sky had become. The clouds were moving swift and fast, having seemingly gathered out of nowhere, and were now heading to the east. Scott's senses went on high alert and he sniffed the air, vaguely catching Stiles scent. Every part of the wolf within him screamed that something was wrong, and before Scott could even say a word, he was off and running through the trees.

He followed the scent as it grew stronger and stronger, weaving his way around the trees and ducking under branches, following the clouds to where he knew Stiles would be. Suddenly he broke through the trees and into a clearing where he stumbled to a halt, his eyes growing wide in shock at what he saw.

Stiles was standing near the river, his arms surrounded with wind and flame, throwing them at a man in front of him, who seemed completely unaffected by it all. When Scott looked, he realised with a jolt of shock who the man was. _Ran Gore._

Stiles had been right. Gore was here, he was here in Beacon Hills. He was _here_.

Without warning Scott gave a loud roar, his face and hands morphing into the werewolf, and he ran out towards the man, his hand raised and ready to attack. When he reached him, he brought his clawed-hand down and ripped it through his neck. To Scott's surprise, however, his hand did not meet flesh and bone, but instead became immersed in water until it broke through the body and to the other side.

Gore took a few steps back, smiling at Scott and Stiles all the while. "Well I must say, it's been wonderful talking with you; we must really do it again some time! I'm sure we'll see each other again soon, _Blessed_." Gore grinned. "Very soon." He turned his attention towards Scott, who was standing before him, his claws outstretched and ready to attack. "It was wonderful to see you again, True Alpha. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten you – you were meant to join the _Blessed_ in what will soon be his ending, but I will admit, I don't always have the best of help, something I plan to fix in time for your next visit." Gore smiled, then gave a wave. "Until we meet again, boys." Gore shimmered once, twice, then disappeared into the mist.

Scott stared into the air in utter disbelief for a moment, before spinning around to face Stiles. The flames around Stiles' arm faded, before disappearing entirely, and Stiles' arms fell to his side. Scott could see a thick sheen of sweat glistening off his brow and could smell the sickness rolling off him in waves. He quickly ran over to him, grabbing his arm to steady him as he began to tilt. Stiles managed to stay upright, however, and finally turned to Scott, giving him a half-hearted glare. "Do you believe me now?" he asked. A cough began tearing its way through his throat, and Stiles couldn't help but lean against his friend in order to stay on his feet. The fight had completely exhausted him, and he felt ready to collapse.

At that moment there was rustling through the trees, and Scott and Stiles looked up to see Lydia, Malia, and Liam bursting through into the clearing. They looked around a few times for any danger, before spotting Scott and Stiles and quickly making their way over to them.

"Stiles, Scott!" Lydia shouted as she drew near, her eyes wide in fear and concern. "Are you two okay?"

Liam stepped forward. "Scott, what happened –."

"Ran Gore was here."

The girls and Liam stared in shocked silence for a moment, before quickly finding their voices. "What – what are you talking about?" Lydia asked. "Ran Gore? Isn't that the man you met in the mountains? I thought you said he couldn't leave! What on earth is he doing here?"

"I don't know, but we need to find him. Liam, you take Malia and go –."

"No," Stiles interrupted, managing to speak between coughs. Everyone turned to him and he shook his head. "No. He's not… he's not really here, he's still in the mountain."

Scott's brows furrowed in confusion. "But then, how –."

"He's still able to be here, somehow. Use the water to make it seem like he's here; he's still able to use his powers. He… he wants Beacon Hills, he wants the _people_ in Beacon Hills. He's planning… he's planning to do the exact same thing he did before, a hundred years ago. He wants to do to Beacon Hills, exactly what he did to the town in the mountains."

Everyone's eyes widened and the tension around them grew thick, as everyone realised what Stiles was saying.

"So – so he's planning on killing them?" Liam asked. "He wants to kill everyone? Every person in the town?"

Stiles ran a sweaty hand through his hair, shaking his head as he did. "No. No, he doesn't want to kill them – not yet. He doesn't want their lives, he wants their _souls_. That's his plan – to take everyone's souls and use them for himself."

Silence fell over them once more, as everyone took a moment to truly take in the weight of what Stiles was saying. "We have to stop him," Lydia said, her wide eyes turning to Scott. "How can we stop him?"

Scott opened his mouth, about to reply, when Stiles suddenly began to cough once more, his shoulders leaning more heavily against Scott. Scott pressed his lips together and he tightened his grip around Stiles' shoulders. He looked back up at the pack, his eyes set. "I'm going to take Stiles home," he said firmly.

Stiles immediately shook his head. "No, Scott – I'm fine! I'm fine, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather, that's all –."

"Stiles," Lydia interrupted, stepping forward. "Stiles, you look like you're ready to collapse. Let Scott take you home."

Stiles just shook his head once more, even as sweat began to drip across his brow. "No, no Lydia – you don't understand, I have… I have to help! I have to help you guys, we need to find Ran Gore, we need to stop him and –."

Lydia reached out and grabbed Stiles' hand, giving it a comforting but firm squeeze. "We'll take care of it, Stiles. We'll do the research, we'll do the planning – you just go home and sleep. You haven't been feeling well all weekend; and knowing you, you probably haven't been feeling well since you guys got back, and you've just refused to tell anyone." Stiles' look of guilt was all the affirmation that Lydia – and everyone else – needed. "Go home and get some sleep. As soon as you're better, you can come back."

Finally, Stiles nodded, letting Scott lead him out of the clearing and towards the trees.

Scott brought Stiles straight back home and helped him into his bed. By then, Stiles was all but asleep, completely gone the moment his head hit the pillow. Scott let out a heavy sigh as he stared at Stiles' sweat-glossed forehead, and listened to his quickly-beating heart and rasping breaths. He knew Stiles had been getting sick, he knew he hadn't been feeling well for a while, and he wished he had forced Stiles to get some rest sooner. The fight he'd had with Ran Gore had clearly pushed him over the edge, and his body was now rebelling against itself as the sickness made its way through him. Well, Stiles was certainly going to lay low and get better now. Scott sent out a text to Stiles' dad, letting him know that Stiles was sick and that he was back home.

Scott stayed for another two hours until the Sheriff got back from work. He told him everything of Stiles' symptoms, and how he hadn't been feeling well all weekend. The Sheriff sighed, but revealed that he'd been wondering if this was going to happen. Stile had a tendency to get sick whenever he had been too stressed, or whenever he went through a particularly traumatic event. After what had happened in the mountains, John had figured it was only a matter of time before his body responded accordingly.

With Stiles now in the care of his father, Scott finally went home.

* * *

Stiles was jarred awake when his chest gave a great spasm, his muscles and lungs contracting painfully, feeling as though something were exploding from inside. The pain abated for a moment, and Stile's hearing slowly came back. He could suddenly hear people talking downstairs, two low voices, and he vaguely recognized them as his father and Scott. He looked around for a clock, wondering what time it was – wondering what _day_ it was. His eyes landed on the light of his clock near his bed: 12:03pm.

Without warning his chest spasmed again; Stiles grabbed his chest and gave a weak and strangled cry, rolling to his left and falling out his bed with a thud. He coughed, his throat feeling like someone had taken sandpaper to it; he needed something to drink. He was suddenly more thirsty than he'd ever felt before – well, maybe not ever. The mountain, the mountain was the most thirsty he'd ever felt. It was the most hungry he'd ever felt, the most tired, the most cold. The most despair. And it was all because of him – because of Tristan Jacobson. Because of Ran Gore.

Ran Gore. He'd seen him, he'd talked to him. He… he was going to do something, to someone – somewhere. He was going to hurt someone. He – he had to be stopped. He had to stop him, he had to find him and stop him; he had to _find_ him….

Stiles' arms were weak and he could barely move, but he reached out across the floor, inching forward bit by bit. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find Ran Gore, he needed to stop him – he was going to do something, he was going to _do something_ ….

Suddenly the door in front of him opened, revealing a concerned-looking Scott, whose face turned to outright worry upon seeing him on the floor. "Stiles – Stiles, what are you doing? Did you fall off your bed?"

Stiles shook his head, continuing to crawl forward, trying to get to his feet. "I have – I have to leave, I have to go –."

Scott bit his lip, looking down at his friend in worry. Stiles looked completely out of it, his eyes glossed over and his face shining with sweat. His hair and bedsheets were soaked, along with his clothes. Scott was suddenly very glad that he'd chosen to stay rather than go back to school.

Scott crouched down and grabbed Stiles' shoulder. "Come on man," he said, urging him to move. "Let's get you back to bed."

Stiles shook his head once more, pushing Scott away. "No, you can't – I have to leave, I have to get out of here. He – he's coming! He's coming, Scott! We – we have to leave, we have to _escape_ –."

Scott managed to pull Stiles to his feet, his heart dropping as he did. "We got out, Stiles. We escaped. You got us both out, remember?"

Stiles stared at him, his brows furrowed together in confusion, as though he were trying to comprehend what his friend was saying. After a moment he shook his head. "No, no we didn't – we're trapped, Scott – we're trapped and Gore is going to kill them, he's going to _kill them all_ – we have to stop him, we have to stop him –." Stiles broke off with a cry, his body hunching over as he grabbed his chest in agony once more.

Scott quickly adjusted his grip, keeping Stiles upright. "Stiles, let me help you get back to bed. I'll get some new sheets, I'll change out your old ones, and you can go back to sleep and –."

"No!" Stiles' voice resounded loudly through the room as he regained his footing and he suddenly pushed Scott away, causing him to stumble a few steps back. For how delirious and sick he was, Stiles was surprisingly strong.

Scott took a deep breath, and tried again. "Stiles…." He reached for his friend once more, his fingers just about to wrap around his arm, when Stiles suddenly looked up at him, his glaring eyes covered in a blue mist. Without warning, he spread out his fingers and shoved them towards Scott.

Scott went flying backwards until he crashed into the wall and fell to the floor in a heap. He looked up just as the walls began to shake, and he saw Stiles' eyes squeeze tightly shut as his fingers gripped painfully into his hair, the muscles in his jaw moving as he gritted his teeth together. The posters and pictures on the wall began to shake violently until they fell to the floor with a crash. Scott thought the wind would stop, but it didn't. Instead the dressers began to move, shaking and rattling until suddenly each of them broke, snapping into hundreds of pieces. Clothes and objects began lifting into the air and Stiles began to keen, his shoulders hunching over as he curled in on himself.

Scott swore, immediately getting back to his feet. He dodged the wayward objects as they crashed through the air, until he finally reached Stiles' side. "Stiles, Stiles!" he shouted. "Stiles, you have to calm down –." He finally reached out and grabbed Stiles' wrist. At that moment the shaking stopped and all the objects fell to the floor. The mist disappeared from Stiles' eyes and the grip in his hair relaxed; he looked up at Scott, his eyes wide and confused. Scott let his hand fall and it was then that Stiles surged forward, moving past the werewolf and through the open door.

He stumbled out into the hallway and down the stairs, making his way into the dining room. Scott quickly ran down the stairs after him, watching him carefully, every sense on high alert. "Stiles," he said cautiously, "Stiles, man – you have to go back to bed. You're not well."

Stiles shook his head again, but didn't turn around. He looked around, searching for what, Scott didn't know. Suddenly he grabbed his chest, hunching over. Scott stepped forward, about to go over to him, when suddenly Stiles leaned back up and without warning, threw out his arms.

Everything happened at once. The dining table and chairs were thrown into the air, slamming into the walls and splintering into pieces. One of the pieces hit the glass of Stiles' mother's old china cabinet, breaking it into shatters. One of the pieces flew at Scott, nicking him across the cheek. When he looked back up, Scott saw Stiles grabbing his keys off the counter and heading towards the door. Scott swore. "Stiles!" he shouted, manoeuvering over the broken table and fallen glass, "Stiles, stop!"

He followed Stiles outside, where the delusional teenager was trying to open his jeep's door. To Scott's surprise, he managed to turn the lock after only a few tries. Scott ran over to him, keeping his hands to himself this time, but making his presence known. "Stiles," he said firmly, putting in as much alpha-authority into his voice as he could. "Stiles, you can't be driving. You're sick, you're not well enough to be driving. You can't –."

"I have to find him," Stiles said, pulling the door open with shaking hands. "I have to find him. I have to find him, I have to stop him – he has to be stopped, he's going to do terrible things; he's going to do _terrible things_ –."

"Who, Stiles?" Scott asked, trying to deter him long enough to grab the keys from his hands. Though from what had happened inside the house, Scott was no longer sure that was a good idea.

"Ran Gore! He's here – he's here, Scott! Did you see him? Did you see him?!"

"I saw him, I saw him, Stiles!" Scott quickly affirmed, trying to calm him down. Stiles' manic eyes seemed to ease at the agreement, but his hand remained firmly on the door of the jeep as he pulled it open.

"We have to find him," he said, pushing Scott back. Scott stepped away, not wanting to set him off.

"Stiles, let me drive then. You're in no state to –." But it was too late. Stiles was already in the driver's seat and starting the engine. Scott had to move as quickly as he could. "At least let me come with you," he said, urging Stiles to listen to him. Stiles stilled, and after a moment he nodded. Wasting no time, Scott ran to the other side of the vehicle and got inside.

The drive was harsh and erratic, as Stiles' fevered-induced mind sent them swerving all across the road. Scott had one hand on the dash and one hand on the seat behind him, his body and muscles tensed as he prepared to grab the steering-wheel at a moment's notice. His eyes switched between Stiles and the street, thankful that it was mostly empty and that Stiles seemed to at least be obeying _some_ rules of the road. "Stiles," Scott said after a few minutes, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. "Stiles, where are we going?" Stiles didn't answer at first, and the tension and panic in Scott's chest began to boil over. "Stiles!"

Stiles suddenly turned the steering wheel to the left and Scott was thrown to the side as the jeep veered onto a dirt road, which Scott vaguely recognized as one that they would sometimes take to school, if the main roads were too busy. They drove for a few minutes, Scott's unease growing with every passing second, before he tried speaking once more. "Stiles?" he said cautiously. "Stiles, where are you taking us?"

To Scott's surprise Stiles answered, as sweat dripped down the side of his neck. "Have to find out more, have to research. We have to find Jacobson, have to stop him."

With a panicked realisation, Scott suddenly knew where Stiles was trying to go. "No Stiles," Scott said firmly. "No, we're not going there. There's no way in hell I'm letting you into the school like you are."

The wheel jerked and Stiles glared at Scott, his eyes holding a crazed sheen that Scott had never seen before. "We have to find him," he said angrily. "Do you _want_ people to die?!"

"No, I don't! Which is why I'm not letting you go there!"

"Fuck you, Scott."

Without warning Scott grabbed the wheel and shoved Stiles to the side, pushing his foot off the pedal. He gripped the wheel and slammed on the breaks. The jeep came to an abrupt stop, throwing them both forward into the dash. Before Stiles had any time to respond, Scott threw the vehicle into park and opened the driver's side door, shoving Stiles out with all his strength.

By the time Scott had followed him out, Stiles was already back on his feet; but instead of looking at Scott, he was facing the other way and heading into the woods. "Stiles!" Scott shouted, running after him. "STILES!"

"I'm going to find him," Stiles shouted back. "I'm going to find him and I'm going to stop him! I can stop him, I can fight him – I can _defeat_ him –."

"No, you're not! You can't go into the school Stiles, I'm not letting you go!"

"Just try and stop me!" Stiles had just made it into the trees when suddenly he was tackled from behind, and he was thrown to the ground.

The two boys rolled over each other across the ground, until at last they came to a stop and separated. Stiles crouched on his feet, his lips turned back in fury as he spread his arms and wind began to circle around them. Scott also crouched low to the ground as his teeth clenched in a snarl, his eyes turning red as his claws and teeth began to grow. Stiles threw his hands towards Scott and the wind bowled over him, sending him spinning to the ground. Scott was prepared, though, and he quickly got back up, running through the trees in the effort to catch Stiles from behind. Trees began to crack and snap in half, leaving a trail of mangled branches and torn ground behind him.

The once-clear sky had turned suddenly dark, and thunder crashed loudly above them as rain began to fall. Scott followed Stiles' scent as the trees began to move around him, their branches reaching towards him, trying to grab him. But Scott was ready, and he was quick – he dodged the trees and kept low to the ground, all the while his eyes never leaving Stiles.

Stiles could tell where he was, Scott could sense that, but he couldn't see him. So as soon as he had his back towards him, Scott surged forward and pushed him to the ground. He grabbed Stiles' arms and tried to pin them to his side, as Stiles continued to struggle relentlessly. Without warning Scott was thrown on his back, and suddenly it was Stiles who had him pinned. Scott stared at Stiles in shock as they struggled against each other, as Stiles' eyes were not merely a mist of blue or green, but they were a completely different colour entirely; his pupils and irises had completely disappeared, as a chaos of blue, green, red, and dark purple converged together, covering all of his eyes, including the whites.

 _"_ _I AM THE BLESSED!"_ Stiles screamed at him, holding Scott's arms painfully to the ground. Scott pushed back at him with all his strength, but Stiles' iron-strong grip kept him down. "You are _nothing_ , werewolf!" he spat as the two continued to struggle. "I have more power than you could ever _dream_ to have – I could kill you right now, with just the _smallest_ thought." Scott felt the bones in his arms begin to compress and his struggles to kick Stiles off of him increased.

Stiles, though, didn't appear to notice a thing. "You wolves think you're so _smart_ , you think you're so _clever_ – your kind may have been around for ages past, but _my_ kind has lived for just as long, and we will endure far longer than you ever will." Spit ran down Stiles' chin, dripping onto Scott's chest, but Scott found himself unable to look away from storm roiling in Stiles' eyes. For the first time since Scott had known him, he was truly afraid.

Stiles continued to scream at him, his hold never ceasing. "I am the _Blessed_ , werewolf – I am the _Blessed_ and I will be the one to defeat Ran Gore and all those who will come after him. Mine is a destiny far greater than yours could ever be! I will stand before them when no others will, and _I_ will be the one to break the Darkness. You have no idea what's coming; you have no idea what the future is going to bring. You have spent these past three years believing you have seen it all, that you have faced terrible and wretched things – but you know _nothing_. You thought that your journey ended with your graduation, that the end of this chapter would be the end of your story. But you are wrong. Your journey has only just begun."

The anger in Stiles' voice had lessened, and Scott took that moment to snap his head forward, bashing it against Stiles' with a loud crack.

Stiles immediately let go of Scott and he fell back, grabbing his head with a cry. Scott wasted no time and he leapt forward, tackling Stiles to the ground. This time, he did not let up, and he dug his knee into Stiles' sternum, before taking his arm and pressing it beneath Stiles' chin. Stiles fought back with a strength Scott only felt when fighting other werewolves, but Scott did not let him get far, as he opened his mouth and let out a terrifying and mighty _roar_.

Stiles fell back and Scott pushed his arm harder against his throat. Stiles struggled for a few more moments, until at last his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and his body fell limp.

* * *

Scott drove like a madman, speeding through the town as fast as he could in order to make it to the hospital on the other side. Stiles lay unconscious beside him, his head pressed against the jeep's passenger door.

A short while later Scott pulled into the hospital parking lot, the tires screeching to a halt. He pulled Stiles out of the jeep and ran into the hospital, where his mother quickly met him and took charge. She led him up the stairs and to an empty room, closing the door behind them. "Put him on the bed," she said, grabbing a pair of gloves. "Quickly."

Scott did as she asked and placed Stiles on the sheets. Melissa went round to the other side, her brows furrowed together in worry. "What happened?" she asked.

"He's been sick all weekend," Scott told her. "I thought it was just a cold, but it's gotten worse. I was at his place during lunch, and when he woke he was delirious. His sheets and clothes were soaked and he was trying to get outside. He was completely out of it."

Melissa grabbed a wet cloth and pressed it against Stiles' sweat-sheened forehead. She took her other hand and pressed it against his cheek; she had it only there for a second before she removed it, her eyes wide with shock. "He's burning," she said. She grabbed Scott's hand and placed it on the cloth, pressing it firmly. "Keep this here." She turned around, heading to the cart to look for supplies.

It was at that moment that Stiles groaned and his eyes began to flutter open. Scott let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, when he saw he could see the whites of Stiles' eyes once more. His relief was short-lived, however, when it became evident that his friend was still under a state of delirium.

Stiles looked round a few times, clearly trying to figure out where he was. "Stiles, you're at the hospital," Scott quickly informed him. "You're sick. Don't worry, my mom's going to take good care of you –."

"Scott?" Stiles asked. Scott nodded, but rather than grow calm, Stiles began to move, trying to sit up.

"No Stiles," Scott said. "Stiles, just stay down –."

"Stiles, honey," Melissa said, "you need to stay lying down. I'm going to give you some drugs, so you should –."

Stiles suddenly let out a cry as he sat up, surging forward as he grabbed his chest. "Stiles?" Scott said, trying to get his friend to answer. "Stiles, what's wro –."

Melissa stepped forward, about to help, when suddenly Stiles shouted and flung out his arms. Melissa was sent flying into the wall, while Scott was sent crashing into the door on the other side. Scott immediately rose to his feet, panic coursing through his veins as he looked over at his mother, who was slowly getting back to her feet. Scott turned to Stiles, who was already getting off the bed and stepping on the floor. He noticed with alarm that the tile beneath Stiles' feet had begun to smolder and turn black; Stiles stumbled forward, landing against the wall beside Scott. His palm was pressed against the stuccoed surface, his fingers splayed, and Scott watched with shock as not Earth, Air, or Fire appeared – but _ice_. His fingers became covered in frost and the ice surged from his hand, crackling its way up the wall.

Scott raised his hands, trying to keep Stiles calm, but Stiles reacted by flinging out his arm, sending the cart of supplies at the end of the bed flying across the room and crashing into the window. Scott gritted his teeth and growled, his eyes flashing red, trying to subdue the other man. Stiles' own eyes flashed with a mist of red as well and he shoved his hands against Scott, pushing him against the wall. Scott roared in pain as Stiles' hands scorched through shirt and began burning into his skin.

They struggled for a few moments, Scott trying to push Stiles off of him as his fists continued to burn into his chest, but it was to no avail. Even sick with delirium, Stiles was too strong. He was too strong, and he wasn't relenting, and he would –.

Suddenly Melissa was standing behind Stiles, and in the next second she was jabbing a needle into his thigh. Stiles immediately let go of Scott and cried out in pain, stumbling back a few steps before collapsing to the floor, unconscious.

They both stared at Stiles for a few moments, catching their breaths, before Melissa finally broke the silence. "So," she said, still breathing heavily, " _this_ is what you've been keeping from me."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Scott said, trying to find words that he could say that would somehow explain everything in just a few minutes. "He, I –."

"This started with the Witch, didn't it?" Melissa interrupted. As usual, she was far smarter than Scott gave her credit for.

"Yes," he replied.

"So… what? He has super-powers now?"

"He's an Elemental. He can control all four elements – and more, apparently."

Melissa let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand across her forehead. Though her words were light, Scott could tell she was about ready to panic. "Well, when you boys go out, you go all out. When he wakes up, do you think he'll be all right?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't know what's going on. Ever since he woke up at lunch, he's been like this. We fought before and I managed to knock him out; I thought he'd be back to normal now, but clearly…."

"Well there wasn't much in the needle, so he won't be out for long. You'll need to get him out of here, if you think he's going to do this again."

"I don't – I don't know where to go."

"How many know about this?"

"Just me, Stiles, Liam, and now you."

Melissa stared at her son incredulously. "You mean you haven't told the rest of your friends?"

"Stiles didn't want me to; he kept my secret for me, Mom. I have to keep his for him."

Melissa looked down at Stiles, thinking for a moment, before she looked back up at Scott. "What about Deaton?" she asked. "Doesn't he know about this sort of thing?"

Scott stared at Stiles a moment longer, before looking up at his mom with hard eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, he does."

Melissa nodded. "Okay, let's get him there as fast as we can."

They managed to get Stiles out of the hospital through the staircase and a side door, placing him back in the jeep. "Go," Melissa said, knowing that if Stiles were to wake up, she'd only be a hindrance to her son. "Get there as fast as you can."

Scott arrived seven minutes later at the clinic, grabbing Stiles and carrying him through the door, where Deaton was sitting behind the counter, a book in his hand. At the door's opening he looked up, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Scott?" he said, putting his book down. He caught sight of Stiles held limp in Scott's arms. "Scott, what happened –."

"Stiles is an Elemental," Scott said quickly, his words falling out of his mouth in a rush. "Something's happening to him, his powers are going crazy – he's delirious, and every time he wakes he starts attacking someone –."

The surprise in Deaton's face disappeared, replaced with dark eyes and a heavy frown. "Follow me," he said, and led Scott into a side room, where a long table sat in the middle. Scott placed Stiles on the stainless steel, as his body just began to stir.

Deaton drew up beside him and placed his hand on Stiles' forehead, closing his eyes. A few moments later he opened them and he looked up at Scott, his eyes wide in stunned disbelief. "His soul is trying to escape his body," he said with shock. He placed his other hand on Stiles' upper-body and his brows narrowed together in a deep frown. He closed his eyes once more and pressed hard against Stiles' chest. At that moment Stiles' eyes tore open and his body spasmed, as he let out a scream, writhing in agony. Scott grabbed his arms and restrained him, trying to keep him from falling to the floor. Stiles screamed again and fire burst from his arms, lashing around him in chaos. Scott withstood the pain as the fire hit his skin, the burns quickly healing as the flames died away.

 _"_ _What's going on?!"_ Scott shouted to Deaton over Stiles' screams.

Deaton was standing at the counter, rapidly combining different flasks of liquid into one cup. "An Elemental's soul is tied to their powers," Deaton shouted back. "Somehow his soul is trying to escape his body, but his powers refuse to let it go. As a result, they're lashing out in complete bedlam."

 _"_ _What do we do?!"_

Deaton appeared back at Stiles' side, a cup now held firmly in his hands. "Here," he said, motioning to Stiles' mouth. "We need to make him drink this. It will calm his soul and negate the effects of whatever it was that is trying to remove it."

They struggled for a moment as Scott gripped Stiles' mouth and forced it open; at last he did it and Deaton quickly poured in the drink. Stiles choked and coughed, the drink starting to splutter back out, but once Deaton had finished pouring Scott quickly let go and forced Stiles' mouth back together, rubbing his throat until the other man finally swallowed. Stiles' movements immediately began to calm, his head falling back against he table with a thud. The fire on his arms, however, continued to burn.

"Here."

Scott looked up to see Deaton holding a length of rope towards him, and he looked at him in confusion. "What is thi –."

"His soul may have stopped trying to leave his body, but his powers will still be restless. These ropes are filled with magic; they'll help bind Stiles' powers until they're able to calm down and he can control them again." Deaton began wrapping the rope around Stiles' right arm, weaving them across each other until his reached his shoulder. He tore of Stiles' shirt and continued to wrap it around his upper-body, before handing the other end to Scott. Scott hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was the right thing to do, before Deaton finally said his name and he quickly finished the last bit, knotting it at Stiles' wrist.

With a great and shaky sigh of relief, Scott let go and let himself fall back against the counter, closing his eyes as he struggled to reorient himself. For the moment, Stiles was safe. For the moment, they were all safe. For the moment.

For the moment.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! And thank you to all who've left reviews for the last chapter - you guys are amazing!

Merry (belated) Christmas! I hope you guys are having great holidays.

Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! I'd greatly appreciate it :)


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I hope you enjoy this next one.

* * *

Scott was silent for a long moment, his eyes fastened on Stiles who was now sleeping on the table, his once-thrashing body now completely still. He ran a hand over his face, the panic and fear of the past hour finally starting to dissipate from his body. It wasn't until he brought his fingers over his eyes, though, that he realised his hand was shaking. It was then that Deaton finally spoke: "So," he said, his voice deceptively light. "Stiles is an Elemental, is he?" Scott looked up at the older man warily, and that was all the affirmation Deaton needed; his mouth pressed into a thin line. "When did that happen?"

"It was… it was when Ms. Givens – the Witch – appeared. That's when his powers started to show up."

"You mean to tell me that you've been keeping this a secret for over six months?"

Scott gave Deaton a wry grin. "I kept my secret for a long time, too. It's not that hard to hide, really, when people aren't paying attention."

"Elementals are very rare, Scott," Deaton said after a long moment, his eyes glancing up to the werewolf. "You should have told me."

For what felt like the millionth time, Scott replied, "It wasn't my secret to tell." Funnily enough, though he agreed that Stiles should have told someone like Deaton by now, the more that people insisted that he have done so, the more Scott grew defensive of his friend and more stalwart in his decision to keep his silence.

Deaton just shook his head and gave a sigh, leaning back against the counter across from Scott. "So which element can he control?" he asked.

Scott looked back down at Stiles, who hadn't moved an inch since Deaton had poured the drink down his throat. Scott's eyes trailed along the rope that now criss-crossed Stiles' arms, wrapping around his shoulders and upper-torso, holding back the power that had been causing such chaos only a short while before. Scott took a deep breath, hoping that Stiles would forgive him. "Well, he can control Air and Earth without any problem, but it's only been recently that he can control Fire, too. From what I know, he can't yet control Wat –."

"Excuse me," Deaton interrupted, and Scott looked up to see the older man looking at him in disbelief. "Did you just say he can control _three_ elements? As in, Earth, Air, _and_ Fire?"

Scott blinked, furrowing his brows in confusion. "Yeah…." he said slowly, trying to understand what Deaton was saying. "But he can't control Water, yet. I'm assuming he will, though – eventually."

Deaton turned his eyes back to Stiles, looking completely shocked and bewildered. "But that… that's impossible. At least, I myself certainly haven't heard of someone controlling that many elements before. One, yes – but _three_? That's… that is _unheard_ of!"

Scott swallowed, wondering not for the first time, just how strong and uncommon his friend really was. "Well that's… that's what he can do. That's what I know." Scott stared at the older man for another minute, before finally voicing the question that he had been wanting to know since he'd arrived. "But Deaton, what… what do you think caused Stiles to…. You mentioned his soul was trying to escape and that his powers were keeping it back. Do you have any idea what could have caused that to happen? What could have possibly made his soul try to leave his body?"

Deaton still looked stunned, unable to turn his eyes away from the young man lying on the clinic's table. Finally after a few minutes, he wrenched his eyes back up to Scott. "There are different spells that can remove one's soul from their body, and as far as I know they all require a type of potion – a drink, that once ingested, will cause the person's soul to eject itself from its body. Do you know what Stiles could have taken, or know anyone that would try and do that that to him?"

Yes. Yes, of course Scott knew who would want to do that; it was only too clear who it had been. Scott had spoken with Deaton only once since he and Stiles had returned home a week ago, and had told him about the man in the mountain and what had occurred. "It was the man in the mountain," Scott said. "Ran Gore. It had to be him."

Deaton stared at Scott, his brows furrowing together in a confused frown. "Ran Gore?" he repeated. "But why would he have gone after Stiles? Wouldn't it make more sense to go after you?"

"I think he tried to, actually. I have a feeling that he did, but somehow he failed."

Deaton was silent for a few moments, before asking, "When you were in the mountain, did you guys drink anything? Besides your own water? Did you drink from any pools on the ground, or any underground lakes?"

Scott shook his head. "No, no we didn't."

Deaton sighed. "Well whatever he drank, he must have taken it when you were in the mountains. I've heard of Ran Gore before, though my knowledge of him is little, I'll admit; but I do know that when he took his powers, he became confined to the mountain. He cannot escape it simply by walking out his door. So whatever he did, it must have been done while you were there."

Scott frowned, his fingers clenching ever-so-slightly against the countertop. "I know he can't leave the mountain physically, but yesterday we saw him. He was in the woods, near where we train by the river."

Deaton stared at him, an eyebrow raised questioningly. "What do you mean, you 'saw' him?" he asked.

"Well, he was standing right in front of us – but he wasn't there for long. When I tried to attack him, I just went through him. It was like… it was like a hologram, but made entirely out of water. He disappeared soon after that."

"That's impossible; Ran Gore isn't strong enough for that. There's no way he could have left the mountain, even if it was just a projection of his image. Not unless he had some sort of link, some sort of connection –." Deaton cut himself off, realisation dawning as he spoke. "Which Stiles would have given him. But then, Stiles must be a very powerful Elemental, for only someone of great strength could keep that connection from so far away, and for so long."

Scott sighed, running his hand over his face once more, exhaustion suddenly falling heavily over his shoulders; he felt as though he could sleep for a week. "Well, when we fought today, he seemed pretty strong to me. It was only when he got distracted, going on about all those prophecies and whatnot, that I was able to get the upper hand. But it doesn't matter." He shook his head. "I'll just take Stiles home for now." He moved forward and placed his arms beneath Stiles' shoulders and legs, lifting him up with ease. Sheesh… when Stiles woke, he was going to let him know just how tired he was of carrying him around….

Suddenly there was a crash as something fell to the ground and Scott turned around to see Deaton staring at him with wide eyes, the glass he had held in his hand now laid shattered on the floor. Scott opened his mouth, about to ask what was wrong, when Deaton spoke: "Stiles is the _Blessed_ , isn't he?"

Scott's heart jumped in his throat and he stopped, his body going completely still, a heavy silence falling over the room. He wanted to refute it, to tell Deaton he was wrong, but the look on his face must have betrayed the truth – as Deaton's incredulity slowly faded, replaced with instead with stunned understanding. "He is, isn't he?"

Scott opened his mouth once more, trying to find something to say to defend his friend, to deny the claim, but Deaton ignored him and continued to speak. "That's why the Witch came here last October; that's why she took Stiles and not you. It wasn't because she'd made a mistake, it wasn't because she didn't know that the True Alpha was here – it was because she knew that there was someone here who was far stronger." His eyes fell to Stiles, who continued to lie unconscious in Scott's arms; the older man's brows were raised and his mouth held open in utter disbelief. "Of course. And that's why Ran Gore is here, now – because the one connecting him is powerful enough to hold the bridge. And that he can control _three_ elements…. Only one has been foretold to have that power; only one has been said to be able to control _all_ of the elements."

Deaton shook his head, his face lined with complete incredulity, as though his mind were pushing back and forth over what to believe. "But for it to be _Stiles_ , I – I never in my wildest thoughts, would have believed that _he_ was –."

"What do you know of it?" Scott interrupted. "I know there are prophecies, that people… that people have known about Stiles for a long time, have known about the _Blessed_ – but I've never actually heard –."

"The _Blessed_ is the one who will stop the Darkness, the one who will have the power to defeat many dark creatures who will seek to try and kill those around them, who will cause chaos and devastation. The prophecies themselves are vague and obscure; many have tried to decipher what they truly mean, but no one has come to a definitive conclusion as to what they are saying. The only thing that is agreed upon is that a darkness will one day arise, and that it is the _Blessed_ who will defeat it."

Scott's fingers tightened in their hold against Stiles' shoulders and he fought back the nausea that was beginning to rise in his throat. He glanced down at Stiles' sleeping face, a face he had known since he was four years old, a face he had known since before he could even begin to remember. He recalled what Stiles had said in the woods, about being the _Blessed_ and the one who would defeat the coming Darkness, one who was more powerful than anyone or anything….

Scott gave a heavy sigh. Four years ago they had been regular teenagers, just regular kids who were looking forward to high school and graduation, to growing up and having a regular life like everyone else in the world. And now here they were, in a mess of chaos and confusion that neither of them could have ever possibly imagined.

"Scott," Deaton said, interrupting the werewolf's thoughts. Scott looked up and saw that the disbelief that had been on Deaton's face moments before was now gone, his brows now narrowed together and his eyes dark, his mouth set in a firm line. "Scott, you can't tell anyone who Stiles is. I'm telling you – there are many creatures that know of him, and if someone says something, if it gets out that the _Blessed_ is here, in Beacon Hills – he and everyone around him will be in danger. You can't tell a single person, not even your friends – do you understand?"

Scott took a deep breath, gripping Stiles tighter in his arms as his jaw clenched together, his eyes dark. "I've kept his secret for this long, Deaton," he said. "I have no intention of giving it up now." With that, Scott gave his thanks to Deaton for his help, and turned back around and disappeared through the doors.

* * *

Stiles glared at Scott, his fingers clenching into fists by his side as he eyed the werewolf, watching as he stood in front of him, his feet planted firmly on the ground and his eyes dark, refusing to let him pass. Stiles fought back against the anger rising in his chest, against the fire burning in his veins, as he told the wolf exactly what he thought of him. The wolf was the _True Alpha_ , he was his brother – but at the moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was defeating Ran Gore, and the wolf was standing in his way.

They fought each other and Stiles quickly gained the advantage, holding the wolf against the ground, taking hold of the pressure in the air and squeezing it around his arms. He felt the bones begin to compress and the wolf let out a howl of pain. Stiles relaxed his grip, hoping that this would be enough for the wolf to leave him alone, but the wolf soon began to struggle once more and Stiles clenched his teeth in anger, not wanting to hurt him more than was necessary. Didn't the wolf know? Hadn't he seen? Didn't he know of what men and creatures like Ran Gore would do if allowed to roam free? Hadn't he seen the scores of men, women, and children who would die if they didn't stop them? Didn't Scott know that they were the only ones who could do something abo –

Suddenly there was a loud crack and a burst of pain exploded in Stiles' forehead, and he fell back onto the ground. Suddenly the wolf was on top of him, his eyes red and his lips twisted in a snarl, before opening his mouth and letting out a loud and terrifying roar.

Stiles shot forward, his eyes wide and heart racing in his chest. He sucked in heavy gasps of air, the memories of the fight in the woods rushing behind his eyes and bleeding through into the waking world. Suddenly there were hands on his arms, fingers squeezing against his skin as a voice tore through his panic and he looked up to see Scott beside him, his lips pressed in a thin line, his eyes wide and his face etched with fear and concern. "Stiles, Stiles you're okay – you're okay, you're fine – you're at home and –."

"Scott?" Stiles gasped out, his eyes wide with panic.

"Yeah, yeah it's me."

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound that of Stiles' breathing as he continued to try and get his heart under control. Unlike other times that he'd woken in pain and panic, the memories of what had happened the day before came back to him a rush, crisp and clear. He stared at Scott, realising with a start that he had actually attacked his friend, and that – if he had wanted – he could have seriously hurt him. Or… or worse. "Scott, Scott I – what happened, I didn't mean – I didn't stop to think –."

Scott quickly interrupted him, a tired smile pulling at his lips. "It's fine, Stiles. Seriously, for all the times I tried to kill you – and nearly did – it's only fair you get in a few shots as well." Seeing Stiles' face continue to peer worriedly back at him, Scott's mouth pressed in a firm line. "I'm serious, Stiles. Not only did you not seriously hurt me, but I'm also a werewolf, in case you've forgotten – anything that you had done, would have healed right away. Besides, there are more important things to worry about right now than that."

Stiles' thoughts turned to Ran Gore, and it was then that he began to feel something off with his arms. He looked down and his brows furrowed in confusion when he realised that ropes were wrapped around his arms, crisscrossing their way up his forearm and bicep, circling around his shoulder and across his chest, before continuing on down the other arm. Before he could even open his mouth to ask, Scott was answering: "They're binding your powers. Yesterday, when you… when you were sick, your powers kept going crazy. I finally managed to get you to Deaton and he put these on you in order to stop it. He said the reason you were sick was because… was because your soul was trying to escape your body. And that's why your powers started lashing out, because they were trying to stop it."

Stiles raised his eyebrows at Scott incredulously, his fingers clenching in the blankets beneath his hands. He looked down at his arms, staring at them in silence as the information slowly started to sink in. It was only after a few moments that something else Scott had said suddenly clicked.

Stiles looked back up at Scott, his eyes wide. "Wait, you said you took me to Deaton. That – that means –."

It was Scott's turn to gaze back at his friend guiltily, his mouth turning down in a grimace. "I'm sorry, Stiles," he said quietly. "But I didn't have any other choice; I had to tell him what was going on, or else he wouldn't have been able to help you. I swear, if there had been any other way, I would have taken it."

Stiles stared at his friend only for a moment, before quickly shaking his head. "It's fine, Scott."

Scott raised his eyebrows in surprise. "R-really?" he asked. "Are you sure? You –."

Stiles quickly interrupted him as he sat up, energy slowly starting to return to his body. "Seriously, Scott. It was the right thing to do. Probably should have told him a long time ago, really –."

"He knows you're the _Blessed_."

That stopped Stiles in his tracks. He looked back up at Scott in stunned silence, his heart skipping a beat. "Wh-what? But… but how…?"

Scott shook his head. "It was my fault. I mentioned you could control three of the elements, and he said he'd never heard of any Elemental being able to do that before. We talked a bit more and just as I was about to take you home, he figured it out." Scott looked up, meeting Stiles' eyes. "He didn't really know more than what we already know, but he said that we shouldn't tell anyone. That we _couldn't_ tell anyone; he said that the more people who know, the more they'll be in danger."

Stiles leaned back against the wall, running a hand through his hair and over his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, the memories of the day before playing through his mind like a horror film on fast-forward. Finally, after a long silence, he looked back up at Scott. "Have you seen Ran Gore?" he asked quietly. "Has he… has he shown up anywhere else? Has he done anything yet?"

Scott shook his head. "No, not since yesterday."

"So you _did_ see him, then?" It was more of a statement than a question; a desire for acknowledgement that would prove Stiles hadn't been mistaken, that it hadn't all just been the result of a delirious fever-dream.

"Yes, I saw him. I'm sorry, Stiles – I should have fully believed you the first time you told me –."

"I wouldn't have believed me either, Scott. With everything we've gone through in the past few weeks – heck, the past few years – it's a wonder we all haven't gone crazy, yet."

Scott gave a small smile, adjusting his seat on the bed and moving to sit beside Stiles against the wall.

Stiles proceeded to tell Scott all that had happened by the river, everything that Ran Gore had said about what he had done, how he had been the one to "invite" them to the mountains, how it had all been a setup from the beginning, with the intent of jumpstarting his plan to escape the mountain and find souls to steal – to feed himself. He explained what Gore was planning on doing to Beacon Hills, and how everyone here was now in danger.

"Deaton said that at some point, Gore must have given you something – that's what caused the problem with your soul, and that… that somehow it's created a connection; it's why he's been able to show up here like he has," Scott said quietly.

"Yeah, I… I thought as much." Stiles leaned forward, thumbing at the rope around his wrist. "We have to find him," he said after a moment. "We can't let him do this; we can't let him go through with his plan."

Scott sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know." He gave a wry grin. "I guess we can kiss our graduations goodbye."

"Let's be honest, Scott – it probably won't matter anyways. I don't think university is in any of our futures."

The way he spoke made Scott pause, and he looked over at his friend, lines etching around his eyes in uncertainty. "What do you mean, you don't think –."

Suddenly Scott's phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Scott quickly glanced at the screen, then swiped it open. "Hey Mom," he said. He was silent for a moment, before glancing at Stiles and giving him a tight smile. "Yeah, yeah he's awake. He's fine…. Yeah, I said he's fine, why –." Scott's words trailed off and his eyes drifted, his brows furrowing together. "Why… what do you mean they won't wake up?"

Stiles frowned at Scott's words and turned to face him better, his eyes watching every twitch and movement of Scott's face, trying to read what Melissa was saying. The lines around Scott's eyes betrayed his worry and the clench of his jaw gave away the fact that whatever he was hearing, was serious.

"Yeah….Yeah, okay. Yeah, we'll stop by; I'll see if I can smell anything. Yeah – yeah, we'll see you in a bit." Scott hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked, his eyes following Scott as he moved off the bed and onto his feet. "What happened?"

"Something's going on at the hospital. Mom said people are coming in with the flu, but then suddenly they start falling asleep and won't wake up."

Stiles' gut wrenched and his breath caught in his throat, as the memory of the vision he had seen the night he and Scott had returned home flashed through his mind. "Scott," Stiles said quickly, getting off the bed. "Scott, remember what I said – remember the… the _vision_ –."

Scott blinked as he threw on his jacket, suddenly remembering what Stiles had told him of what he'd seen in the water. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, before Scott finally swallowed and finished zipping up his coat. He grabbed Stiles' jacket and threw it to him, knowing that he wouldn't stay behind no matter what he tried to say. "Let's see what it is, first," he said cautiously, the alpha edging his voice, "and then we'll decide what to do."

Stiles swallowed, rising to his feet and quickly sliding his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. The ropes snagged against the fabric and Stiles blinked, suddenly reminded of their presence. Scott caught Stiles' movements and he motioned to his arms. "You can probably take them off now. Deaton said they were just to supress your powers, to bind them until you could control them again."

Stiles stared at his hand for a long moment, before clenching his fingers together in a fist. It wasn't like before in the mountains, when his powers had all but disappeared, unable to be used at all. He could still feel them thrumming beneath his skin, could still feel the fire beating through his veins and the air sifting through the room; he could still sense the trees outside his bedroom window, their roots digging deep into the ground and gripping tightly into the soil – but it was like they were all muffled, as though someone had taken a large quilt and draped it over them, making them quiet and still. Stiles wanted to try and reach for one, to breathe a flame into his palm or wrap the air around his fingers, but the moment the thought entered his mind, the memory of Stiles throwing Scott against the trees flashed brightly behind his eyes, and he quickly dropped his hand to his side. He looked up at Scott and shook his head. "No, let's just go."

Scott nodded, giving Stiles one last glance of concern, before turning round and leaving the room, Stiles quickly following behind.

* * *

They arrived at the hospital on Scott's bike a short while later, quickly making their way into the building and up the stairs, where Scott's mom was working on the third floor. It was evident from the moment they arrived that something was amiss; an unusually high number of people were sat in the chairs, filling up the waiting room, all appearing tired and flushed with fever. As they arrived at the third floor, both boys watched as orderlies rolled a bed across the floor and into one of the rooms, the woman lying across it sound asleep.

"Scott."

Stiles and Scott looked up to see Melissa walking across the hallway towards them, a look of concern etched deep across her face. She looked around a few times before pulling them both into an empty room, closing the door behind her. Her eyes immediately found Scott's. "It's been like this since this morning. They just keep arriving, one after the other. They present with symptoms that appear to clearly be the flu, but when they fall asleep, they won't wake up. Twelve have come in so far, and there's three more downstairs that we think will go the same way. Have you heard anything, can you… can you _smell_ anything –."

Scott quickly shook his head. "There's no smell, Mom. It's not a disease, at least none that I can tell."

"Then what do you think –."

"We know who it is," Stiles quietly interrupted, his voice low. "And we're going to find a way to stop him, I promise."

Melissa turned to Stiles, her eyes widening as though just realising that he was here. The panic and stress of the day quickly shifted from the hospital to her second son. "Stiles," she said, her voice filled with motherly concern. She reached out her hand and cupped Stiles' face, before placing the back of her hand against his forehead. "Are you feeling okay? Is every… is everything back to normal, now?"

Guilt filled Stiles' chest and colour tinged his cheeks as he glanced down at the floor, suddenly unable to look Melissa in the eye. The memory of throwing her to the side with the Air was so vivid, so raw – it was a wonder she was even willing to stand near him now. "Melissa, um… what happened yesterday, I just want to say that I'm… I'm sorry, and I… I hope…." Hope what? That she didn't get hurt? That she didn't get freaked out by someone she thought was human, suddenly turning into a raging, horrible monster? How on earth could he possibly expect her to –

Soft fingers were suddenly cupping his chin and lifting his head, and Stiles saw Melissa's caring, yet firm eyes looking back into his own. "Stiles, honey – don't you _dare_ feel guilty, do you hear me? You didn't hurt me, and whatever you might have done to Scott, I'm sure he's over it by now." Stiles heard Scott make a noise somewhere to his left, but both he and Melissa ignored it. Melissa continued to look Stiles in the eye, never shifting her gaze as her hand dropped back down to her side. "Are you feeling better now?" she asked. "You don't seem to have a fever anymore."

"I'm fine," Stiles replied, the tension in his chest starting to ease at Melissa's words. He glanced briefly to Scott, before looking back. "I guess… I guess Scott told you what happened?"

Melissa's eyes softened, and she sighed. "Yes. He said you were a… an 'Elemental'? Is that right?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, uh… I guess… I guess I was always one, but my powers didn't show up until last fall. I've been trying to figure it all out, to figure out what I can do, so that's… that's why…."

"Stiles, honey – _shush_. I know why you didn't tell anyone; I had a son that turned out to be a werewolf, who didn't tell me for quite a long time too, if I remember correctly." Stiles watched Scott shift and roll his eyes, and he bit back a smile. Melissa sighed, running a hand over his face wearily. "Have you told your dad, yet?" she asked, though her tone gave away that she already knew the answer. Stiles shook his head, and Melissa sighed. "You need to tell him, Stiles. Believe me, it'll make everything go so much easier if you do."

Stiles nodded, about to reply back, when suddenly Melissa's eyes went wide. "Wait, didn't you say that you knew what was happening? Didn't you say that you knew who was behind this… whatever this is?"

Stiles' muscles tensed and he glanced at Scott, before turning back to Melissa and nodding. "Yeah, we do." He took a deep breath, knowing that she wouldn't like what she was about to hear. "There was… in the mountains, there was… there was a man. A creature, he… he, uh…."

At Melissa's confused look and Stiles' stuttering, Scott intervened. "The rockslide wasn't an accident, Mom," he said quietly. "There was a creature that lived in the mountain; he was the one that sent the letter that we thought was from the pack in Colorado; he was the one that trapped us in the mountain and the one that tried to kill us, but we managed to escape. So now he's followed us here, and his plan is to take everyone in Beacon Hills, and…" Scott swallowed. "And steal their souls."

Melissa stared at her son in silence for a long moment, her brows slowly lifting higher and higher in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" she finally asked, looking between her son and Stiles, her voice growing louder each time she spoke. "Are you _kidding me_?! Are you trying to tell me that you were attacked – that you were trapped in a mountain – because someone was trying to _kill_ you? And you just happened to forget to tell me?!" She stared between her son and Stiles in utter incredulity, a look of anger lining across her face that Stiles had become only all-too familiar with over the many years.

The room fell into silence as Stiles and Scott failed to respond, and the boiling anger in Melissa's face quietened into a simmer. Finally she let out a heavy sigh, placing her hands on her hips. "Okay, how do we stop this, then?" she asked, her eyebrow raised questioningly. At the boys' continued silence, her incredulity returned. "Are you telling me you don't know?"

"Not yet," Scott finally said. "But we will. We'll get the pack together, we'll research – this guy hasn't had any souls to feed him for a hundred years; he has to be weak. We'll find a way to stop him and break his connection to the town. We won't let him go through with this, I promise." Melissa stared at her son for a long moment, before finally nodding.

A shout suddenly came from the hallway, followed by an angry swear and a call for a nurse. Melissa sighed and made her way to the door, but not before turning one last time to the boys, her finger pointing between the both of them. "When this is over, you will be telling me exactly what happened during spring break, do you hear me?" Scott and Stiles both nodded, and Melissa gave them one last pointed look before opening the door and leaving the room.

The door shut behind her with a click, and both Stiles and Scott let out a sigh. Stiles pressed the palms of his hands deep against his eyes, wishing that he could somehow forget about all that was happening and go back to bed.

"Well," Scott said, running a hand through his hair, "that went a lot better than I thought it would."

Stiles rubbed his hands over his face, groaning loudly. "Damn it, Scott – what the hell are we going to do? How are we supposed to stop Jacobson – Ran Gore – whatever the hell he calls himself – how are we supposed to stop him?!"

"We'll talk to Deaton. He must know something we can do, I'm sure of it." There was a low squeak as taps slowly turned on, and Scott continued: "And Stiles," he said, leveling his gaze at his friend, "we have to tell the pack. They need to know what we're up against, and they need to know why." Scott's eyes suddenly widened, a look of guilt suddenly crossing his features. Stiles immediately tensed, staring at his friend warily. Before he could even ask, Scott quickly explained: "Oh, and, uh… I forgot to tell you, but before I found you and Ran Gore, when I was with the pack at the river… um, Malia… Malia mentioned that… that she might've seen –."

Suddenly the sound of splashing came from somewhere behind them and both boys' brows furrowed in bewilderment, before they turned round to face the open bathroom door. Their bewilderment turned to frowns of confusion as they saw that the taps were turned on all the way, the water having filled the sink and now pouring over the brim and onto the floor. The water pooled on the white tile, gathering in a silver sheen before creeping its way towards the door. It passed the threshold and into the room, spreading across the floor and heading straight towards Stiles and Scott. Stiles took an instinctive step back, a sense of deep foreboding weighing heavily in his bones. Scott glanced at Stiles and seeing the dark look of apprehension across his face, followed his lead.

Like a snake, the water slithered across the ground, wrapping around the legs of the bed and the table, before circling around the boys' feet. A sense of danger suddenly washed over him and Scott stepped closer to Stiles, his eyes never leaving the water as it completed its circle and began spreading across the rest of the floor. "Stiles?"

"Don't touch it," Stiles said sharply, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, his jaw clenching as he gritted his teeth. After a few more moments the entire floor of the room was covered in water, save for where Stiles and Scott stood.

The water began running up the walls, the clear glisten morphing into an inky black, covering the windows, the doors, and the ceiling, until they were completely surrounded by darkness. There was a beat, then a deep, low pulse reverberated through the room, like the lowest note of a cello being pulled; the water pushed forward and covered the last remaining tile beneath their feet, and like a trap door falling out beneath them, they began to fall.

Out of instinct Stiles shouted, his arms and legs thrashing through the air as he tried to grab hold of something – anything – to stop his fall. He could hear Scott yelling beside him and he immediately started grabbing for the air, trying to bring it together beneath them to slow their descent; but before he could even take hold he suddenly came to a stop, landing on the ground with a crash.

He blinked rapidly and quickly started to move, trying to regain his senses. When he looked up he was stunned to see not the bare, white room of the hospital – but instead the soft, orange glow of a setting sun, just beginning to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows across numerous buildings of what looked like a small town. A familiar town.

The town in the mountains.

Stiles stared with wide eyes in disbelief, unable to believe what he was seeing. How – how were they –

Movement caught the corner of his eye and his heart skipped a beat in shock, as he watched two women in old, Edwardian-clothing walking down the street. As he looked around, Stiles saw that the street was filled with people, men and women walking to and fro, children chasing each other across the dusty gravel and dirt. What had once been dust-covered signs were now bright and clear with fresh paint, as once-old, rotten steps and walls were now perfectly strong and new. Bells rang as people walked in and out of shops, and it was only when Stiles heard someone cough that he turned to see Scott lying on the ground behind him, staring at the town with a disbelief that mirrored Stiles' own.

Just as both boys started to get to their feet, the last of the sun dipped behind the mountains and cast the town into shadow.

A great wind suddenly picked up, blowing through the street and over the buildings, its shrill whine sounding loudly through the air. Then, without warning, the doors of all the houses and shops began to open, and one by one people began to step out and walk into the street. Stiles took a step back as the men, women, and children came towards him, bumping into Scott. They both stared in stunned disbelief as the people continued to walk, some with their shoulders held back, some with their shoulders hunched over, but every one walking forward with unceasing steps. Stiles felt Scott suddenly stiffen behind him. "Stiles, Stiles look at their eyes –."

Stiles did and he found himself stilling in shock, as he realised that each person's eyes were glazed over in perfect white, shining like liquid glass. No one seemed to notice their presence as they began walking past them, and before Stiles could move to stop them, to ask someone what was going on, a loud voice began speaking from behind them: "Come one, come all, to the last feast you will ever have! It will be a different feast than you're used to, I'm afraid, for with this feast, _you_ shall be the main course."

Scott and Stiles spun around and their eyes widened as their gaze met Ran Gore himself, standing in the middle of the road near the end of the town, a large smile spread wide across his face as the townspeople slowly began to walk him by. Stiles flexed his fingers and Scott's nails began to extend, but Gore took absolutely no notice of them. He continued to make remarks at the people as they passed by, slapping some on the shoulders with a smile, and kicking others with an angry glare.

As one man in particular passed by a few feet away, Gore purposely strode over to him and kicked the back of his legs, sending the older man falling to the ground. Gore stood over the man as he tried to get up and spat angrily on the back of his head. "You don't seem so high and mighty now, do you, Asterleigh?" Gore growled, giving the man one last kick before stepping back. The man said nothing as he struggled back to his feet, behaving as though nothing had happened. Gore's furious eyes continued to follow him as he merged back into the throng of people. "You should never have said what you did all those years ago; now you will pay for it – and you will pay dearly. If I have to live alone in that mountain, then you will too. Yours will be the last soul I take, and I will make your end far more painful than any other."

Stiles stared in stunned fear as Gore's words fell over him and he started to step forward, anger and instinct pushing him to stop Gore from what he was doing, to save the man from what would clearly be a cruel and terrible fate; but just as he began to move, the scene in front of him shifted and started to fade, until Stiles could see nothing and hear nothing but the frantic beating of his heart.

His vision came back, however, with a new scene in its place. He now stood on what he instantly recognised as a mountain's edge – one mountain's edge in particular, one that he could never forget as long as he lived. It was the mouth of the mine that led into the mountain, the same mouth that he and Scott had entered and became trapped in, an entrance that neither of them should have ever stepped foot in. Stiles watched in silence as the people of the town appeared at the base of the mountain and began following the train-tracks up, until they began walking through the mine's entrance and were swallowed up into the darkness. Fear and revulsion coursed through Stiles' veins, as he realised that each one of these people would never see the light of day again.

"Such a beautiful sight, isn't it?"

Both Stiles and Scott's heads snapped up, meeting the eyes of Ran Gore who stood on the other side of the tracks, his hands held behind his back as a dark smile stretched across his lips. Stiles suddenly jerked forward, words falling out of his mouth before he could stop them: "You son of a bitch!" he swore, only stopping as Scott's hand shot out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "You killed them! You killed all of them! You –."

"Of course I did, dear boy! Did you not see them in the pit? Did your little wolf-friend _Darius_ not tell you? Did you not believe me when I said that I needed the souls of others to survive?"

Yes, yes he did know; but he hadn't thought – he didn't think…. He hadn't thought it had been like this, that the people had been taken like cattle being led to the slaughter –

Gore's smile suddenly disappeared, a dark glint shining against his eyes as they narrowed in fury. "I must admit, child – you're proving more difficult to catch than I first thought. Your escaping my mountain was not a surprise, but managing to keep your soul after I tried to rip it away from you… now _that_ is an admirable feat. But I can tell you, boy – it will not be a feat you will achieve twice."

His eyes turned briefly to Scott, his anger never fading, before his gaze turned back to Stiles. "You should have let me take your soul, _Blessed_ ; but you didn't. So now you will pay the price. Do you know why I've shown you this? Do you know why you're watching these people walk willingly to their deaths? Because _this_ is what is going to happen to your little town of Beacon Hills; _this_ is what's going to happen to each of your friends, to your schoolmates, to your teachers – to your father. Because you decided to escape me, each person in your town will become imprisoned – they will live in the mountain with me, until I decide to end their suffering and _eat their soul_."

Gore's eyes gleamed, his lips pulling up in a dark, twisted smile. "And it's all thanks to you." The manic anger in the man's face suddenly disappeared and he straightened his shoulders, taking on an air of formality. "In fact, I think I'll start with your little friends. What were their names again? Ah yes: Lydia, Liam, and Malia. They will make such wonderful appetizers, before the main feast begins."

Gore grinned and Stiles and Scott both started to shout, starting to run towards him when suddenly their vision turned to black, and the next thing they knew they were falling once more, before landing with a thud on the white tile of the hospital floor.

It took a moment to reorient themselves, separating their limbs and catching their breaths, realising they were back in the hospital room once more. They looked at each other at the same time, both of their eyes wide with fear and panic. There was no time to discuss what had happened, there was no time to see if they were each all right – _there was no time_. "We have – we have to find them," Stile managed to get out, stumbling to his feet. "We have to warn them, we have to tell them –."

Scott was already on his phone, frantically typing in Lydia's number as he quickly made his way to the door. "Come on," he said, opening the door and letting Stiles through. They ran through the hall and pushed the door into the stairwell, all but flying down the steps until they made it to the bottom, where they burst through the side door and started running to Scott's bike. Stiles was desperately sifting through the pack's numbers on his phone, calling one after the other, _urging_ them to pick up, but not one of them did. Scott kicked his bike into gear and the engine roared to life.

Scott turned round, his eyes asking if Stiles had gotten a hold of anyone yet, but Stiles could only shake his head in response. "Just start driving," Stiles shouted above the noise of the bike. "We'll go to the school first; maybe – maybe Liam's at practice and everyone's watching him, or –." Before Stiles could even finish, Scott was revving the engine and they were tearing out of the parking lot, and onto the road.

They drove towards the school, Scott taking the backroad that would hopefully get them there as fast as they could. Stiles continued to try and call the pack, hoping beyond hope that someone would pick up, but the lines just continued to ring. They were driving alongside the trees when Stiles suddenly gripped his arm tighter round Scott's stomach, and shouted in his ear. Scott brought the bike to a halt, the tires skidding and swerving in the dirt. Stiles quickly got off and Scott followed him, letting the bike fall to its side. Scott ran up to Stiles side, his brows raised and his eyes wide in confusion. "Stiles, Stiles what is it? Did you get a hold of them, did you –."

Stiles suddenly stopped in the middle of the trees and took a deep breath, before turning his attention down to his arms. Raising his left hand, Stiles slowly began to untie the ropes. "I'm going to try and use the Earth," he explained, fingers deftly tugging on the knot and pulling it out. "I'm going to see if I can sense them, sense where they are, find them." Scott stilled, swallowing in slight unease as Stiles slowly started to unwrap the criss-crossed rope from around his arm.

Bit by bit the rope fell off his wrist, and then his arm, until it was hanging off his shoulder. With every bit of rope removed, Stiles' arm began to feel heavier and heavier, as though gravity were pulling on it, trying to bring it down to the earth. A sense of foreboding washed over him, but Stiles ignored it and moved to his other arm, sliding his thumb beneath the rope and starting to push it off.

Out of nowhere, a tree suddenly snapped in half to their left. Stiles looked up, watching as the large oak started to fall towards them, when suddenly he was pushed from behind and rolled onto the ground, the tree crashing to the ground behind them. Stiles looked back, his eyes wide in shock; he barely had a moment to look up at Scott before his arm suddenly erupted in flame. Stiles shot back, scrambling away from Scott as he stared at the fire in disbelief, before quickly squeezing his hand into a fist and concentrating – focusing on pushing the flames back, on making them disappear. The flames, however, only ignited further, and began travelling up his arm until they met the rope still tied round his shoulder.

Stiles could hear Scott shouting his name behind him, but he ignored him; instead he continued to focus on the flames, pushing them back with all his strength. The flames slowly started to ease, falling back bit by bit, and for a moment Stiles thought he had it under control – when suddenly, like a rubber-band being let go, the flames engulfed Stiles' body and flew into the air, setting the trees above them alight.

Stiles wasn't aware that he was screaming; all that he knew was that his body felt like it was tearing itself apart, as though there were a thousand different forces trying to do a thousand different things, all coursing through his veins, pumping through his heart, demanding for a release that Stiles could not give them. The fire danced on his arms, his fingers, his chest, but he did not feel it – all he could feel was the pressure building beneath his skin, of the power that was trying so fervently to get out. The ground beneath him began to shake and he fell to his knees, leaning forward and pressing his head against the ground, squeezing his elbows against his temples as he continued to scream. Without warning his eyes suddenly flew open and he gasped, the air suddenly disappearing from his lungs, before quickly returning, then disappearing once more. Like a panic attack he'd never felt before in all his life, Stiles fought for breath, fought for air, fought – he _fought_ –

Suddenly a hand was grasping his arm, its fingers gripping painfully into his skin as the person – _Scott_ – made his way to Stiles' other side. Stiles felt the rope that he had undone slowly begin to wrap back slowly around his arm, then faster and faster, criss-crossing over each other until it finally met his wrist. Like a switch being turned off, the fire that had engulfed Stiles' body was snuffed out and the pressure in his chest disappeared, as the air in his lungs abruptly turned back to normal. Silence fell over the forest and as Stiles looked up, he saw that even the fire that had been raging in the trees only moments before, was now suddenly gone, burnt and smoldering leaves and branches the only things left in its place.

"…re you okay? Stiles, are you okay?!"

Stiles' wide eyes snapped back down to Scott, who was looking at him in a mixture of stunned shock and fearful worry. Stiles' eyes immediately went to Scott's arms, nausea rising in his throat at what he was sure would be horrifying, revolting, excruciating burns –

Except Scott's skin were bare, save for the missing hair that had been singed off his forearms. Stiles stared in stunned silence before looking back up, his eyes meeting Scott's. "Y-you – your arms, are you – did you –." _Did I almost kill you?_

Scott quickly shook his head, squeezing Stiles' shoulder reassuringly. "No, no I'm fine. You didn't burn me, Stiles – you didn't burn me at all –."

 _But – but how?_

Stiles opened his mouth, about to speak, when suddenly the ringtone of his phone sounded a few feet away, and both boys looked up to see a name shining brightly across the screen: _Lydia_. As quick as lightning, Stiles shot forward and grabbed the phone, swiping it open and pressing it to his ear. "Lydia?!"

In the silence of the clearing, Scott could hear every word _: "Stiles? Were you and Scott trying to call us? What's the matter? Are you feeling any better?"_

"Lydia, Lydia where are you? Is the pack with you? Are you at the school? Are you –."

 _"_ _Stiles – Stiles, calm down! Malia, Liam and I are down by the river. We're just doing some training. We didn't tell Scott, because we figured he was with you –."_

"Lydia, Lydia listen to me – listen, you have to leave, okay? You have to meet us, you have to come back – someone is coming after you, someone's trying to find –." A loud white-noise suddenly began sounding in the background and Stiles faltered, momentarily caught off guard as he tried to figure out what it was. "Lydia, what's that noise?" he asked.

 _"_ _It's just the rain,"_ Lydia said, her voice crackling through the phone. Stiles frowned, glancing up at the clear-blue sky. There was another crackle and then a silence, before Lydia's voice came back: _"…ame on quite suddenly; it was fine when we got here. We'll probably leave soon –."_

"Lydia," Stiles interrupted, "Lydia, listen to me – you're in danger. You and the others – someone's coming after you, you have to get back into the town and meet us, meet us at the school, we'll –."

 _"_ _Stiles?"_ Lydia's voice suddenly interrupted. _"Stiles… yo… bre…up –."_

"Lydia?"

 _"…'_ _s… aining… really hard… can't hea –."_ With a loud click, the call ended.

Stiles stumbled to his feet, staring at Scott with side eyes. "Scott, we have to go to the river, we have to find them –."

Scott got to his feet as well, staring back at Stiles with wide eyes of his own. "Stiles, are you sure you're okay? Are you –."

"I'm fine," Stiles said firmly, refusing to let one moment be spent on him. He felt completely back to normal, and he knew that while what had just happened was serious, right now they needed to find the rest of the pack, before Ran Gore did.

Seeing the look in Stiles' eyes and the clench of his jaw, Scott nodded and the two took off back through the trees and onto the road. Scott picked up his bike, kicked it into gear, and the two took off.

A few minutes later they were nearing the end of the road that would turn into a path, which would lead through the trees and to their training spot by the river. Normally they would park the bike and walk the rest of the way, but Scott didn't hesitate for even a second, before jumping over the ditch and swerving his way through the trees. Stiles gripped Scott tightly as they made fast and jarring turns through the trees, driving over fallen logs and ducking beneath low branches. His eyes, however, never left the blue sky above them, completely void of clouds. As they neared the river, Stiles could feel Scott look up as well and he knew that the werewolf was wondering about the exact same thing as him.

Then suddenly, a loud crack reverberated through the sky, and like driving through a tunnel, the sky was suddenly covered in roiling dark clouds, thunder crashing loudly above them as lightning forked through the sky. Without warning Scott brought the bike to a stop, nearly throwing Stiles off the side. When he looked up, Stiles could see the river flowing in the distance.

The two boys quickly began running through the trees, weaving their way over the roots and branches as they ran towards the river. The trees tried to move out of Stiles' way, but he was running too fast and their movements were too slow. Stiles paid the abnormality no heed, though, and soon both he and Scott broke through the tree-line and stumbled into the clearing.

They immediately spotted Lydia, Malia, and Liam, all of whom were making their way from the river's edge and heading up towards the trees. The sound of the pouring rain muffled Scott and Stiles' shouts as they called to their friends, yelling at them to hurry up, to run as fast as they could. The trio looked up and Liam offered a wave as Malia gave a friendly smile in greeting; Lydia's own smile quickly faded as she saw the boys' faces, her brows furrowing together in concerned bemusement.

Stiles and Scott started yelling at them again, shouting at them to move, to run, to get to them as fast as they could. They started running down the clearing to meet them, when suddenly thunder crashed loudly above them. And then, like the rising sound of a jet engine, there came a deafening, rushing roar. Stiles and Scott skidded to a halt, their eyes widening in horror as they met the sight of a massive tidal wave rushing down the river, lifting high into the sky, standing impossibly still for what seemed like an age, before falling back down to the earth with a terrifying crash. The wave fell over the bank and into the clearing, and without giving any moment to run, it swept Lydia, Liam, and Malia into its depths.

The water surged, lifting high above the banks as it began rushing down the river with impossible speed, carrying their friends with it. For the briefest moment they saw Liam still clinging to the riverbank, his eyes wide in terror, and Scott took off running towards him; but just as he reached him, the river swelled, its currents circling round Liam's waist, pulling at him, pushing at him, until Liam's grip faltered and he disappeared under the waves. Amongst the crash of thunder and the roar of the river, there suddenly came a boom of laughter, echoing off the trees and through the air, followed by a deep voice: _"You should have done as I wanted,_ Blessed _. You should have let me take your soul when I demanded it. But now, it's too late."_

Stiles suddenly saw the top of Lydia's head break through the water, and without a second thought he tore down through the clearing, and jumped into the river.

The current was fast and strong, carrying Stiles and twisting him every which way, spinning him around and around and around until he had no idea where he was, or where any of the pack were. He spread his arms and stretched his fingers, trying to take hold of the water like he had done in the lake, trying to force it to come to a stop, but while he could feel the Water's power touching his veins, could feel its essence just beyond his reach, he could not take hold.

The current suddenly threw him above the water, his head breaking the surface for only a few moments, moments in which he managed to catch a glimpse of Lydia's strawberry-blonde hair. Stiles opened his mouth, spluttering as the water fell into his throat. "Ly – LYDIA! _LYDIA!_ "

A tree suddenly reached down towards Stiles and snagged his shirt, bringing him to an abrupt halt. Another branch fell across the water, catching Lydia by the waist and trapping her in its leaves. Stiles wrapped his arm around the branch and reached towards Lydia, willing the tree to carry him further, to push him just a little closer – just a _little closer_ –

Lydia coughed and spluttered as the river continued to push her against the branch, the water rising as thunder crashed loudly above them once more, the currently surging and pulling Lydia further and further beneath the tree.. She caught Stiles' eye and, seeing his arm stretched out towards her, stretched out her own arm in return. "STILES!"

" _LYDIA!_ "

The seconds that followed felt like age, as both Lydia and Stiles reached towards each other, hands spread as far as they could go as they tried to grab hold of the other's hand. Stiles caught Lydia's terrified eyes looking back into his own, and he gritted his teeth as he stretched out further, the river raging in fury beneath him. He urged the tree to carry him further, to stretch out just a bit more, _just a bit more_ –

His outstretched fingers brushed against Lydia's and their hands slid against each other, trying to find purchase. Their fingertips snagged, holding for the just the briefest moment, before sliding away once more. Water splashed against Lydia's face and she coughed, her hand momentarily falling back into the river. Then suddenly, before Stiles could even blink, a great wave lifted and crashed against the tree, breaking it in half. Lydia disappeared beneath the wave once more, and this time she did not return. Stiles stared in complete terror, before her name tore through his throat: _"LYDIA!"_

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time, I'd love to hear from you :) Have a great week!


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles stared unseeingly into distance for what seemed like an age, before suddenly he heard someone shouting his name behind him. He turned round and spotted Scott standing on the bank on the other side of the river, his body completely soaked as he waded through the water and rock to get to his feet. Stiles climbed down from the tree and jumped into the river, quickly swimming across its now-calm currents and to the other side.

Scott helped him to his feet and Stiles wanted to grab him in a hug, suddenly realising that Scott had just been in danger, too; but the knowledge that they'd just lost all three of their friends – their _pack_ – sat on Stiles' shoulders like ice, leaving him shocked and numbed. He instead grabbed onto Scott's forearm, gripping it tightly beneath his fingers. "Scott, Scott we have – we have to find them, we have to start searching –."

Scott closed his eyes and took a deep breath; the wind was coming from the east, heading towards them from down river; he scrunched up his nose, searching for any scent he could find, but after a few minutes he could only open his eyes and shake his head. "I can't smell them," he said grimly. He paused for a moment, then looked to Stiles. "What about you?" he asked. "Can't – can't you try and sense them? Try and see if they've landed on the ground anywhere? Or if they're still in the water?"

Stiles blinked, realising that Scott was right. It wasn't something he'd perfected, not by a long shot, but it was worth a try. Closing his eyes, Stiles searched for the element of Earth and grabbed hold; he could feel the soil beneath and around them, could sense the trees standing a few feet away, but he would need more than that if they were going to find their friends. With a deep breath, Stiles gripped the Earth tighter, then cast it out into the forest and around the –

Immediately the ropes around Stiles' arms began to tighten and Stiles' eyes popped open, his lungs feeling as though they were being squeezed from the inside. He gasped for breath as his arms began to burn. Without realising it, Stiles immediately let go of the Earth and the element disappeared between his fingers.

"…iles! Stiles!"

Stiles quickly came back to himself with a gasp and he looked up to see Scott peering at him in concern, something that Stiles was seeing far too much of as of late. Shaking his head, Stiles quickly straightened his shoulders and pushed past Scott, heading out into the trees. "It's fine," he said, another phrase that was quickly becoming far too commonplace and which was proving ever more false. "The ropes, they just…." He took a breath. "I can't find them, not with these ropes on. We'll have to search the river, we'll have to tell my dad, and he can put together a search party, and –."

"Are you sure?" Scott asked, running up behind him. "What if they're not in the river? I couldn't smell anyone, Stiles –."

"That's because they're probably miles and miles downriver!" Stiles shot back. "They're probably lying on the rocks, or caught against a tree branch, injured and bleeding! We need to start looking for them now, we have to find them before Ran Gore –."

Stiles stopped in his tracks, his eyes going wide as Ran Gore's words from only an hour earlier suddenly flashed loudly through his mind: _"Because you decided to escape me, each person in your town will become imprisoned – they will live in the mountain with me, until I decide to end their suffering and_ eat their soul _. In fact, I think I'll start with your little friends. What were their names again? Ah yes: Lydia, Liam, and Malia. They will make such wonderful appetizers, before the main feast begins."_

Stiles swung around, nearly crashing into Scott who was right behind him. "I think – I think I know where they are," he said.

Scott stared at him with wide, expectant eyes. "Where?" he asked. "Where are they?"

The words stuck in his mouth as Stiles struggled to wrap his tongue around them and the meaning they held: "Gore, he doesn't – he doesn't want to just kill them, he wants their _souls_ – he said he was going to take them, he was going to imprison them first and then – and then he'd –."

Scott's eyes widened in understanding. "So they're in the mountain," he said. "That's why I can't smell them anywhere, even though I should; he somehow… he somehow _transported_ them there –."

Without another word Stiles spun back round and the two began running through the trees until they made it back to Scott's overturned bike, which had been lying on the forest floor. Scott stood the bike up and swung his leg over, Stiles climbing on behind him as he kicked it into gear, and the two took off.

* * *

They arrived at Scott's house and quickly ran inside; Stiles immediately grabbed Scott's school backpack and dumped it out before running into the kitchen and pulling the fridge open, grabbing whatever foods he could and stuffing them in the bag. "We have to pack," he yelled, grabbing all the bottled water he could and throwing it inside. "We have to pack, we have to get as much as we can so we can get to the mountains – we have to drive as fast as we can, so we – so we –."

"Stiles, stop!" Scott grabbed his arm and Stiles stilled, only realising once he'd stopped moving that his hands were shaking. Scott took the sandwich from his hand and placed it on the counter. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm, rooted in alpha-authority: "Stiles, we have to stop and think for a moment. Running around like our heads are cut off isn't going to do any good at all – for us, or them. We're going to find them, Stiles – I promise. But we need to stop and breathe, we have to think, we have to have a _plan_ – or else we're not gonna get anywhere, do you hear me?"

Stiles remained silent for a long moment, before his fisted hand slowly unclenched and he slowly dropped the backpack to the floor. "They're gone, Scott," he said quietly. He still couldn't believe it; he still couldn't believe that they'd lost them, that Gore had managed to sweep them out from underneath them, had managed to rip each of them from their fingertips before they even knew what was happening – and he hadn't been able to do a _thing_. Him – this supposed "Blessed", this supposed Elemental, wasn't able to fight back – because he had these damn, binding ropes on his arms, that whenever he tried to take them off, all hell would break loose – literally. He was of no more help than he had been when he was human – or when he thought he was human. He couldn't do anything, he wasn't able to stop Gore, he wasn't able to save his friends –

Fingers suddenly squeezed his shoulder and Stiles looked up to see Scott's dark eyes staring back at him, his jaw clenched and the lines between his brows saying everything that his mouth did not; but for good measure, he said them all the same: "We'll get them back, Stiles. They're not dead yet, I would feel it – you would feel it. And you know that Gore won't kill them right away – not until he's had his fun, not until he knows we've suffered; but we're going to make sure that he doesn't get that far, all right?"

Stiles held Scott's gaze and the two stared at each other for a long moment, before he finally nodded. Scott gave his shoulder one last squeeze before backing away. "Okay. We'll grab everything we need from here – food, water, clothes – then we'll head over to your place and grab the jeep, okay?"

Stiles nodded once more, letting Scott's instinct as alpha and leader take charge. His temples and eyes were aching once more, but he ignored it, focusing instead only on helping Scott gather his things and setting his brain into overdrive, as he did everything he could to come up with a plan to save Lydia, Malia, and Liam – their friends. Their pack.

Suddenly the doorknob at the front entrance began to turn and Scott and Stiles stilled, before the door cracked open and the air drifted in. Scott immediately relaxed as he caught his mother's scent, and both boys watched in silence as Melissa walked through the entrance and into the house. She closed the door behind her with a click, not noticing at first the two teenagers that were standing in between the living room and the kitchen.

She looked incredibly tired and worn out, her shoulders slumped and her hair and clothes a mess, as she set her keys on the counter and dropped her purse to the floor. It was only at Scott's quiet and concerned "Mom?" that she started and looked up in surprise.

Her face eased at the sight of the two boys, and the weariness quickly returned. "Oh, there you guys are. I was trying to get a hold of you before, but neither of you were answering your phones." She ran a hand over her face and gave a heavy sigh.

Scott took a cautious step forward, his ears and nose picking up on everything that his mother wasn't telling them. "Mom?" he said tentatively, "is everything all right? Did… did something happen at the hospital?"

Melissa quickly looked back up at them, almost acting as though she was going to deny her exhaustion, like Stiles and Scott had witnessed her do so many countless times growing up, but then her face fell and her jaw clenched tightly together as she struggled for words. Finally, after a long moment of silence, she spoke: "There have been more cases that have shown up, like the ones I was telling you about before. When you two left, there were only twelve, maybe thirteen people that were showing signs of the flu, but only five had fallen into what is, essentially, a coma. In the few hours since you've been gone, those numbers haven't doubled, they've _tripled_. There were now over thirty people in the waiting when I left, all showing the same symptoms of the cold and flu, and there are now over twenty people that have fallen asleep and won't wake up. The doctors don't know what to do, everything's just happening so fast, we can't keep up. The head doctor, he… he's strongly considering issuing a pandemic and closing down the hospital until the virus – or whatever it is – can be contained.

"But it's not just the hospital; people are calling in from their homes, their offices – all saying the same thing: that what initially appeared to be the flu has now progressed into a sudden and unexpected state of comatose. The ambulances can't keep up, the hospital can't keep up…. They're closing down all the public buildings in town, including the school." Melissa gave another sigh, as though the weight of the world were on her shoulders. Guilt marred its way through Stiles' chest and he fought back the anger and anguish that was threatening to crush him beneath its weight. There was a long silence, then finally Melissa looked back up, her eyes red and shining. "Do you know what's happening?" she asked, looking between Stiles and Scott. "Do you know how to stop it?"

At that Stiles felt the bones in his body unlock and he leaned down, picking up Scott's backpack and slinging it over his shoulder as Scott answered his mother: "Yes. Yes, we know who it is, and we're going to stop him. I promise." Stiles tensed at Scott's words; Scott sure loved to make promises – so far he'd been lucky in his keeping them, but Stiles knew that one day that luck would run out; and he had a feeling that day was coming soon.

Melissa blinked, her eyes finally catching the pack that was on Stiles' back. "Are you – are you two going somewhere?" she asked, looking between Stiles and her son.

At that, both boys grimaced and Scott quickly grabbed his bike keys off the table, clenching them tightly in his hand. "There was… there was an incident, Ran Gore, he… he managed to take Lydia, Malia, and Liam. He took them, but we're going to get them back. We're going to stop him, we're going to save them –."

"Woah woah woah," Melissa said, holding up her hands, her eyes wide with incredulity. "Your saying this man took Liam and the girls?" She looked between the two boys, seeing the affirmation in their eyes. "What – but how –."

"It doesn't matter," Scott said. "All that matters is that we're going to get them back."

Melissa frowned. "Where are you going? Where did he take them?"

"Back to the mountains. He can't leave them, so that has to be where they are."

"So you're going to drive for thirteen hours? _Now?!_ "

Scott pressed his lips together, shaking his head. "We don't have any other choice. We're going now. If you see any of their parents, tell them… tell them we're going to bring them back, okay?"

Melissa stared in stunned silence as the boys moved past her and towards the door. At the last moment she grabbed Scott's arm. At first, both he and Stiles thought she was going to yell; but instead she pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. Scott wrapped his arms around her in return, hugging her as strongly as he dared. Finally she let go, giving her son a firm kiss on his forehead before stepping back. Scott frowned, staring at his mother in concern. "Mom, you're – you're hot. You're getting a fever."

Melissa smiled and patted Scott's shoulder. "Don't worry about me," she said. "I'll be fine. You go and stop this guy, do you hear me? Give him hell." She then turned her attention to Stiles and pulled him into the same, strong, motherly hug, holding him for just as long as she had her son. She gave him a final kiss on his temple as well, and Stiles fought back the lump that had formed in his throat, as he said goodbye to the woman who had been every bit a mother to him and more.

They left the house soon after, Scott shooting a last few worried glances at his mom before closing the door behind them and getting on his bike with Stiles, heading straight towards his house.

They thought it would be a simple in and out, just quickly grabbing a few of Stiles' things and his keys before getting in the jeep and taking off to Colorado. But when they drove onto the driveway they saw that Stiles' dad's cruiser was parked there as well, and Stiles could only hope that he was leaving right away.

John was sitting at the table when they got in, his fingers pressed against his temples as he leaned over a bunch of papers in front of him. He looked up when Stiles and Scott walked in, the heavy lines around his eyes easing at the sight of them. "Boys," he said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. "Good, you're here. Look, I don't want to alarm you, but there's something going on in the town. People are falling sick, and they think there might be some sort of… illness, going about, and I think it'd be best if you two stayed –."

"Dad," Stiles interrupted, "we're leaving."

John's eyes immediately darkened and he frowned, looking between the two boys in bemusement. It was then that he spotted the bag on Stiles' back and he caught his son's eyes. "What do you mean, you're 'going'?" he asked skeptically. "I just told you, there's some sort of pandemic going through the town, you need to stay here, and –."

Stiles knew that they didn't have time to beat around the bush any longer, they didn't have time to play games or lie to each other; if they wanted to save Lydia, Malia, and Liam, they had to leave now – and he knew that with the look on his father's face, only the truth would get them there. Glancing at Scott, he nodded, and Scott moved past him and up the stairs to gather Stiles' things.

When he left, Stiles turned back to his father, who now had his jaw clenched firmly together, knowing that whatever it was that Stiles was going to tell him, he didn't think he would like it. Stiles took a deep breath, then began to speak.

He told him everything he could within the few minutes they had about what had really happened over spring-break, and how the man in the mountain had followed them back to Beacon Hills, and was now trying to kill every living person in the town. He told him how he'd taken the souls of hundreds of people over a century ago, and how he now needed more if he wanted to continue to live. Finally he told him about the river, and how their friends were now being held captive, and if they didn't leave now to find them, they could very well die.

John took everything in surprising stride – though Stiles could tell he was far, _far_ from happy that he had lied to him, _again_ – until the moment that Stiles told him they were going to leave for the mountains to fight this man – this creature – and save their friends. Before Stiles could even finish speaking, John was shaking his head. "No, Stiles," he said firmly. "You're not going back there. You nearly died last time, I'm not letting you go again –."

"Dad, there's no other choice. If we want to stop what's happening here, if we want to get everyone back – we have to go."

"Then let Scott go! Call that Hale boy, Derek, tell him to get his ass back here and help you guys; go get help from those werewolves that you were supposed to visit – but _you_ stay here."

Stiles knew his dad was speaking from pure desperation, from the single desire of not wanting to lose his son after having nearly lost him so many times already. His heart clenched, and Stiles wished that he could do as his father asked, but he knew that it was impossible. Though he still lived with his father, he had grown up a long time ago. "No, Dad," Stiles said firmly, "I can't. I have to leave." Steps were head as Scott came back down the stairs, Stiles' backpack slung over his shoulder. They met each other's eyes and Scott headed towards the door as Stiles turned back to his dad one last time, biting his lower lip as he gave a strained smile. "I'm sorry."

Stiles turned to leave, but suddenly his dad's hand was on his shoulder and pulling him back. "Stiles, I swear, if you take one more step I will ground you for the rest of your _life_."

"Dad, let me go," Stiles objected, pushing his father's hand away. "You don't understand, I have to –."

"Why?!" John shouted furiously. "Why do you have to go? I don't want either of you to go, but at least Scott can defend himself, at least he stands a chance! Why do you have to go fight this guy, if all you're going to do is put yourself in _danger_ –."

Stiles fought back the rising anger in his chest, pushing his father's hands away once more. "Dad, it won't be like that! I'll be fine, I'll –."

"No, Stiles, you _won't_ be fine! Why do you need to do this, huh?" John raised his arms angrily. "Is this some stupid, self-righteous, egotistical need that you have to fulfill? Some _bullshit_ idea that you have to somehow _prove_ yourself, that you can prove to everyone that you can fight just as good as them?! Well?!" John bellowed, "which is it?!"

 _"_ _It's because he's after me!"_ Stiles yelled. He shoved his father back one last time, sending him stumbling into the table. He glared at his dad, the words spewing out of his mouth before he could stop them: "It's _me_ , all right?! I'm the one this guy is after! I'm the one any of them are _ever_ after! _I'm_ the one that he tried to kill, _I'm_ the one that was able to bring him back to Beacon Hills, that allowed him to start – to start _taking people's souls_. _I'm_ the one that started all of this, so _I'm_ the one that needs to stop it! He took Liam and Lydia and Malia because he wasn't able to get to _me_ – he's starting to take everyone in Beacon Hills because _I_ wouldn't give myself up! So yeah, you're damn right I'm going to go back – and I'm going do whatever it takes to make him stop; I'm going to do whatever I can to put an end to this, _all_ of this – even if it kills me."

There was a heavy silence, the only sound coming from Stiles' angry breaths, before John finally managed to speak, his voice low, anger and confusion laced throughout his words: "What the hell are you talking about, Stiles?" he asked. "Why the hell would this guy – this _Ran Gore_ – be after _you_?"

And before Stiles could even think, the words flew from his mouth: "Because I am the _Blessed_." He stretched out his hand and spread his fingers, and before John's very eyes a flame burst forth in the middle of his palm.

John stared at the fire in stunned silence for a long, ageless moment, before finally looking up to meet his son's eyes. The flame cast an orange glow against Stiles' face, his mouth pressed in a firm line, his steeled eyes dark and holding a strength that John wasn't sure he'd ever truly seen before. The flame disappeared a few moments later as Stiles closed his fist, the lines round his eyes momentarily betraying his guilt. "I'm sorry," he said, backing away. "I'll explain everything when I get back. I promise." With that, Stiles turned round and disappeared through the door.

Stiles climbed into the driver's side of the jeep, the engine already started as Scott sat waiting in the passenger's seat. "Is everything okay?" he asked, eyeing Stiles as he shut the door and buckled himself in.

Stiles nodded, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he took a deep, steadying breath. He opened his eyes and grimaced as he unclenched his hand, which had been held tightly together in a painful fist. He spread his fingers and gripped his red-forearm, hissing as the ropes scratched against his skin, the burns they had given when he'd brought forth the fire slowly beginning to fade. They sat in silence for only a moment longer, until Stiles finally pulled the sleeve of his shirt down and put the jeep into reverse, backing out onto the road. It was now or never.

They sat in complete silence for the first five minutes, until they began to take the road that would lead out of the city and Scott finally spoke: "Are you ready for this?" he asked quietly. They had over ten hours to talk, but Scott knew that they needed to get this out of the way as fast as they could. They both had to be mentally prepared for what was about to happen – and all that could happen. They'd never gone up against someone like Ran Gore before, they'd never gone up against someone whose powers they weren't even fully aware of, and who could rip your soul out of your body – and the bodies of everyone you knew. So if they were going to have any worries or concerns, it'd be best to get them out into the open now.

"He has Lydia," Stiles said quietly, his eyes never leaving the road. "He has Malia. He has Liam. He has every single person in Beacon Hills. It doesn't matter if we're ready or not; all that matters is saving them."

Scott clenched his teeth and swallowed, leaning back in his seat and turning his own eyes onto the road before them. Stiles was right; whether they were ready or not, this was happening – and it was happening now.

Twenty minutes later they had made it to the end of the city-limits, when suddenly something ran out onto the road, causing both Stiles and Scott to shout in surprise with a start. Stiles immediately slammed on the breaks, jerking the car to the right as tried to avoid the obstacle. The jeep skidded across the pavement, throwing both Stiles and Scott violently to the left. The jeep came to a stop halfway in the ditch, smoke rising from the tires behind them.

Stiles and Scott sat stunned for a moment, their chests heaving with adrenaline, before they both spun round, looking for the person on the road. He wasn't there, and for one horrible moment, Stiles thought he had hit him – but then suddenly the man was at Stiles' window, banging against the glass and shouting loudly. Stiles and Scott quickly threw open the doors and got out of the vehicle. "Are you all right?!" Stiles asked, trying to see if the man was hurt.

The man – whose features seemed oddly familiar – quickly nodded his head. "I'm fine, I'm fine! But my friends – my p-pack, they –."

"What happened?" Stiles asked, trying to calm the man down. "What happened to your friends? Are they okay?"

The man stuttered, his eyes wide and body betraying his panic. "My p-pack, my pack, they were – they were attacked, we were attacked, and – and –."

"Who? Who attacked you?!"

The name was a whisper on the man's tongue, but it felt as though it had been a shout: " _Ran Gore._ "

With a start, Scott suddenly realised where the man was from, and he quickly stepped forward. "You're from the pack in Colorado," he said. "Darius' pack."

Stiles' eyes widened in recognition, as he suddenly realised why the man had looked so familiar; he had been one of the werewolves that brought them food and water the day after they'd escaped the mountain, the same day they'd left to go back home.

The werewolf swallowed and nodded, letting out a shaky sigh of relief. "Y-yes," he said. "You two came to us a few weeks ago, after your escape from – your escape from –." The man couldn't finish his sentence, but both Stiles and Scott knew exactly what he was trying to say.

"They were attacked?" Stiles asked, his mouth going dry. "Your pack – they were attacked by Ran Gore?"

The man nodded, looking as though he were once again a step away from pure panic. Scott quickly put his hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him down. "It's going to be okay," he said, trying to keep his voice as believable as possible. "Ran Gore attacked our friends, too – he took them. We're on our way back to the mountains now; don't worry – we're going to stop them, we'll get them back."

The man gave a shaky nod once more, relief starting to give way round his features. "It was – it was a surprise, we hadn't realised that he'd managed to find a way out, that he'd escaped from his mountain. I managed to escape, but we – I didn't – I didn't know where else to go, you were the only other pack I could think of, so I – I –."

"Hey, hey – it's fine!" Scott assured, keeping his voice calm. "How… how bad was the attack?"

The werewolf bit his lip, pausing for only the briefest moment, before saying responding: "Bad."

Scott's face paled slightly, but he forced his features to remain stoic and he gave a nod. "Okay," he said. "What's your name?"

"Thomas."

"Okay, Thomas. Get in the jeep, we'll take you back with us. We're going to stop this guy."

Both Stiles and Scott made to go back to the vehicle, but Thomas remained where he was. They turned back, staring at him in confusion. The werewolf quickly pulled something out of his pocket and showed it to them; it was a small vial filled with a clear liquid. "Wait," he said. "I have a faster way back."

He opened the cork and Stiles and Scott stepped back towards him, eyeing the vial in confusion. Thomas looked up at them. "It's a type of magic," he explained, motioning them closer. "It's something we've kept secret in our pack for years; I managed to grab it before I escaped and came here. It'll take us back to the mountains, to what's left of the pack. Then we can finally figure out a way to st-stop Ran Gore."

Stiles glanced at Scott whose eyes met his, both their brows furrowed together in uncertainty, but nonetheless they stepped forward into a circle and looked to Thomas.

Thomas gave them a small, hesitant smile, before lifting the vial between them. "Okay," he said finally, and he poured the contents onto the ground. The water hit the pavement and immediately began to spread, running under their feet until it was stretched behind them. It then began to circle round, until all the pavement beneath and around them was soaked. Thomas glanced up. "You might want to hold your breath."

Before Stiles could even begin to question him, the water suddenly erupted, shooting upwards like a waterfall in reverse. It completely encased them, wrapping around them in a torrential wave, and before either Stiles or Scott knew what was happening, they were gone.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading and to all those who have reviewed! I greatly appreciate your support.

This was just a filler, but hopefully the next chapter will be a bit more exciting!

Please feel free to leave a review - I would love to hear from you!


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles felt the solid ground beneath his feet shift, growing softer and more uneven, until he was forced to readjust his stance. The vortex of water that had been circling round them like a cyclone began to ease, until it began to dissipate and fell away into the air. Blinking away the droplets of water that had fallen into his eyes, Stiles was suddenly able to take in his surroundings, and he realised with a start that they were indeed no longer in Beacon Hills.

The familiar hills and mountains of Colorado lined the horizon and surrounded them on all sides, the great beasts of the earth a both awe-inspiring and terrifying sight to behold – one that Stiles had thought he would never have to see again. There was a great difference, however, than when he had last been here – one that made him halt completely in surprise.

When he and Scott had been here during spring break, the snow of winter had almost entirely melted, save for the small remnants that had held firmly to the peaks. The ground they had walked on had been wet and muddy from the melted snow, but they'd never had to walk through any, they'd never been bothered by it in the least. Now, however, the scene was entirely different.

Snow lay on every bit of land, blanketing the budding trees, the rivers, and the forest floors. The sky was as white as the ground, making it difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. Everything was eerily silent, not a gurgling river or singing bird to be heard. Stiles stared in incredulity, stunned at the massive change in what had only been a few weeks. Feeling his legs begin to grow cold, Stiles looked down to see the snow reaching halfway-up his shins, his feet completely disappeared within it. It all looked like a beautiful winter wonderland, but instead of feeling excitement or awe, Stiles could only feel a dark and deep sense of unease.

Stiles cast a glance over to Scott, who was looking equally bewildered at the sight before them. Hearing shuffling, Stiles turned his attention to Thomas, who was putting the now-empty flask inside his coat. Seeing Stiles' eyes, he quickly gave a small smile. "It's been like this ever since Ran Gore escaped," he explained, eyeing the snow that was beginning to softly fall around them. "Spring storms aren't uncommon in the mountains, not in the least; but that this started the same day my pack was attacked, well…. It just seems to be far too great a coincidence."

"How far are we from your pack?" Scott asked, looking across the endless white in front of them and into the mountains beyond. He took a few deep sniffs, but he was unable to pick up any real scent.

"Not far," Thomas replied. He started walking in front of them, and began heading down the hill and into the valley below. His feet left empty holes deep in the snow and Stiles wrapped his jacket tighter around his body, giving one last look to Scott before following in Thomas' footsteps.

The snow began to fall heavier as the day went on, the greying sky the only sign of the passing hours. The wind picked up as they walked, the cold air biting into any exposed skin that Stiles had. He was very grateful to have taken the warmest jacket he owned, though even that did little against the force of the winter's wind. The snow was gathering ever higher and higher on the ground as they walked, until eventually it was at their knees; even the pathway that Thomas was creating for them did little to stop the snow from seeping through their jeans and into their shoes.

Although the ropes greatly suppressed his powers, Stiles was still able to conjure up a bit of warmth, letting the fire in his palms warm his hands and his face. The skin beneath the rope burned, stinging painfully, but Stiles ignored it, willing to endure a little pain if it meant he didn't have to freeze to death.

Suddenly Stiles felt something grab his sleeve and he started, looking behind him to see Scott staring at him, the lines around his eyes and between his brows conveying his concern. "We should hold onto each other," he said, speaking above the wind.

Stiles blinked, and it was then that he took a good look round and realised just how heavy the snow had gotten. The gusting wind was pushing snow over the tracks Thomas had left behind, and it was then that Stiles realised how far ahead Thomas had gotten, the falling snow cloaking him until Stiles could barely make out his form.

Stiles immediately jerked forward, stepping faster through Thomas' steps in the snow in an effort to catch up to him; but the footprints left behind were by now all but invisible, and Stiles found himself sinking knee-deep into the fresh snow, struggling to move his legs as he tried to get back on the path. Scott moved past him, taking the lead, reaching over and helping Stiles out of the snow and back onto the tracks. They finally spotted Thomas off in the distance, his dark jacket the only sight they could see amongst the falling snow, and Scott quickly began to head after him.

 _"_ _Thomas!"_ Scott shouted above the wind, holding onto Stiles' arms as they struggled to remain upright against the ever-strengthening wind. _"Thomas, wait!"_

Thomas was too far ahead, however, and didn't slow down. The boys quickly focused all their attention on the path in front of them, struggling through the snow to catch up. Scott kept his eyes on Thomas as long as he could, not wanting to lose him, but as the snowfall grew heavier and the winds grew stronger, he eventually disappeared into the white abyss. Scott pushed down the threatening panic, focusing instead on his nose and tracking Thomas' scent. He quickly caught it and managed to follow it for a few minutes, but with the wind rushing all over and around them, the scent was soon lost.

Scott's grip on Stiles tightened and he swallowed. After a few moments he continued to lead them through the snow, keeping his eyes focused firmly on Thomas' footprints and putting one step in front of the other. He could hear Stiles' heartbeat begin to thrum faster and he increased his pace, his eyes desperately searching for a speck of Thomas – a speck of anything – to appear within the blinding white of the now fast-falling snow.

Then suddenly, something dark caught Scott's vision. As more dark lines appeared, he realised that what he was seeing was the tree-line of a forest. Hope sprung in his chest, for nothing else than at least the prospect of shelter, and Scott all but ran through the snow, pulling Stiles behind him until at last they'd reached the forest and dashed inside.

The snow was even deeper within the trees as they were outside, but the branches at least offered some protection from the thick snow that continued to fall. By now, though, the trail of Thomas' footsteps that Scott had been following was completely lost, only smooth, bare snow now laying before them.

Scott felt Stiles shiver beside him and his grip tightened, his jaw clenching as he continued to search for their missing guide. "THOMAS!" Scott shouted. _"THOMAS!"_ Stiles added his shouts to Scott's, and the two continued to yell the werewolf's name until their voices started to get hoarse.

After minutes of useless calls, Stiles pushed away from Scott and trudged his way through the snow, a shiver running down his back as he made his way to a tall, spindly tree, before pressing his hand against the cold, paper-bark. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he reached for the Earth and tried to cast out his senses, hoping to catch a glimpse of where the missing wolf was –

The ropes round his arms began to burn and Stiles hissed, trying to focus on the senses of the Earth, trying to look for Thomas, but the pain eventually proved to be too much and he pulled his hand back, gripping his arm and holding it tightly against his chest. After a moment he pulled up the sleeve, his teeth gritting together when he saw the reddening skin and the blisters that were starting to form underneath the ropes.

Stiles growled in frustration and placed his hand back on the tree once more, determined to find where Thomas was. The ropes burned faster this time and Stiles tried to keep his senses cast for as long as he could, but soon a cry of pain was tearing itself from his throat and he quickly knelt down, burying his burning arm in the snow. "Damn it," he swore, biting back the pain that was now radiating through his arm and up his shoulder. If it wasn't for what had happened back home in the forest, he'd have ripped these damn things off already….

After a few minutes the pain lessened and Stiles leaned back, letting out an angry sigh before getting back to his feet. The wind had died down some, easing on the painful sting against his skin and making it easier to hear his own thoughts. "I can't find him," Stiles finally called out, squeezing his arm one last time before pulling the sleeve back down and turning round. "The stupid ropes won't let me see –." Stiles halted, his words trailing away as he realised that no one was there.

Stiles shifted, turning completely around as his eyes searched the empty clearing. It was eerily quiet, the snow having stopped falling and the wind having died down, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. A stab of panic shot through Stiles' chest, but he forced it back. He swallowed and took a few steps forward. "Scott?" he called. There was no reply and Stiles stepped further back into the clearing, where Scott had been standing only a short while before. His eyes fell to the footsteps in the snow, seeing where they had once both been standing, before a single trail of steps oddly turned and disappeared into the woods.

Stiles forced himself to stay calm, telling himself that Scott had only gone to use the bathroom and that he'd be back in a few moments. Still, it'd be nice to know that he was nearby. "Scott!" Stiles shouted, his legs sinking into the snow as he took a few step forwards. "Scott, where the heck are you?!" Finally he heard footsteps crunching through the snow behind him, and he let out a frustrated sigh of relief. "You can't just disappear like this, dude. You're going to give me a freakin' heart atta –." As Stiles turned he was suddenly met with a dark figure only a few feet in front of him and he jumped, his heart leaping in his chest as he stumbled back. When he gathered his wits back together, he quickly realised what – or who – it was.

Thomas.

Stiles immediately let out a great sigh of relief, momentarily closing his eyes as he allowed his heart – which had gone from zero to sixty in like, two seconds – to slow down. Finally he opened his eyes and looked at Thomas, a grateful smile pulling on his cold lips. "Dude, you scared me!" he said. He gave a small laugh, trying to push down his fried nerves. "Where the heck were you?! We lost you out in the valley; we just kept walking until we finally found the trees. It's really starting to storm out there – I swear, we could've gotten lost…." Stiles trailed off, his brows furrowing slightly together as he finally took notice of Thomas' image.

The wolf was staring at him, his eyes dark and his face void of any expression, save for the smallest, barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He looked neither concerned nor relieved at seeing the elemental, but as every second passed the smile grew wider, until it had morphed into an undeniable smirk. His eyes glistened against the light of the snow and Stiles instinctively shirked back, swallowing as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Thomas?" he said, eyeing the wolf carefully. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

The wolf didn't answer him, instead lifting his foot and taking a step towards him. Stiles unconsciously took a step back in response, wondering what the heck was going on. "Dude," he said as Thomas continued to walk towards him, "what's going on? Where did you go before? Where – where's Scott?" Stiles stepped back into an unusually deep pile of snow and he stumbled, falling onto his backside. The snow met his shoulders and Stiles struggled to get back to his feet, but before he could gain purchase on the ground, Thomas was leaning over him, his dark smirk now pulled unrestrained across his lips.

 _Danger_ whispered to Stiles from the Air and the Earth around him, and Stiles' eyes darkened. "Who are you?" he asked. "What do you want with us?" He instinctively began gathering the air around his arms, readying in defense, but the moment he did his skin began to burn once more, and he was forced to release it with a hiss.

Thomas held Stiles' gaze for a long moment, before he finally let out a quiet chuckle and reached down towards him. Stiles watched as the nails on his fingers elongated into claws, before grasping Stiles' jacket and pulling him roughly forward. Stiles reached for the Air again, but again his arms seared in pain and he was forced to let go. Thomas brought Stiles close to his face, his dark eyes flickering between Stiles' brown – though searching for what, Stiles did not know.

Finally, after what felt like an age, Thomas spoke: "You don't look like much," he said, tilting his head to the side, as though he were studying some curious specimen. "From what I was told, you were supposed to be someone strong, someone remarkable – someone _amazing_. A man with great power, and with an even greater destiny." Thomas continued to look between Stiles' eyes, before he finally frowned. "But you don't seem to be any of those things. What power you do have, you've chosen to lock up – for whatever _nonsensical_ reason you have."

Stiles struggled against Thomas' clutch, kicking his legs in the air as the wolf's strength held up him, trying to dislodge his grip, but the werewolf's hold was unmoved. "Yeah, well – if I didn't, you and everyone in these god-forsaken mountains would be dead right now, so you better be thankful that they are."

The lines between Thomas' brows eased and the werewolf smiled. "You are no one, _Blessed_ ," he said. "You are nothing but food – fodder for my master, who will lock you away and slowly feed on your soul, bit by bit, until you are nothing more than a _memory_."

Stiles' eyes widened before narrowing as understanding suddenly dawned, and he could only wonder on how he hadn't seen it before. "You're working for _Ran Gore_ ," he stated, spitting out the name with vehemence. "You always were. You live with Darius' pack, but you're not one of them. You're a fuckin' _traito_ –." The grip on Stiles' jacket tightened, cutting him off and Stiles coughed, struggling as the werewolf lifted him higher into the air.

Thomas' smile only widened. "And you were the fool that fell for it! Really, you spend one night with a strange pack and suddenly you trust everything they do? You sleep in their shelter? You eat whatever food they provide you?" Thomas raised an eyebrow. "You take whatever _drink_ they give you?"

Stiles stared at Thomas incredulously, his words suddenly piecing together a puzzle that Stiles hadn't even known was there. He coughed once more, struggling to breathe, before he finally managed to speak: "You – you gave us the water, the water before we left the day – the day after we arrived. You were with the two wolves that led us back to our jeep, but you didn't – you didn't come with us –."

"That water was meant for both of you," Thomas said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "For the _Blessed_ and the True Alpha. But it seems that amongst all of the great and wonderful prophecies of the _Blessed_ , of all he would be and all that he'd do, no one ever mentioned that he would also be an incredible _klutz_."

Stiles lashed out at Thomas with his leg, nearly kicking him in the stomach. The wolf dodged at the last moment, his hand releasing Stiles' jacket only to quickly wrap around his neck, squeezing it tight. Stiles began to choke, his face turning red as the werewolf's claws pierced his throat. Even through the pain, Stiles could not stop the retort from escaping his lips: "Yeah? Well better a klutz, than a whipped _dog_."

The smile on Thomas' face immediately disappeared and his eyes narrowed in a glare. Without warning, Thomas' eyes shone yellow and he growled, before he abruptly carried Stiles backwards, until his body was pushed up against a tree. "My master told me to bring you to him alive," he said, arms struggling to keep Stiles still as the elemental fought against his hold. "But he never said it had to be _unharmed_." With that, Thomas brought Stiles' head forward just a few feet, before slamming it back into the tree with a mighty and horrifying _crack_.

Stiles' vision went white and suddenly all he could hear was a loud ringing echoing through his ears. Everything before him began to swim, the trees and snow and Thomas all wavering and blending together, until Stiles couldn't make sense of any of it at all. He was vaguely aware of his jacket being ripped open and then his shirt being rucked up to his chest. He could hear Thomas' voice, but it felt low and far away, as though he were speaking through glass: "Someone's already been here before, I see. Ah well. I suppose you'll just get to enjoy having some more scars to add to your collection."

Without warning, claws suddenly pierced deep into Stiles' stomach, setting his skin alight in pain. Stiles wasn't sure if he shouted or screamed, or simply choked on Thomas' hand that was still held tightly around his neck, but the next thing he knew his arms were burning as though on fire, as he instinctually grasped for the Air, for the Earth, for Flames – anything to try and fight back, to push the werewolf away, to make the pain _stop, for all that's holy, stop!_ He tried to think, tried to speak, tried to move, but he couldn't; he couldn't do anything, and he –

Another crack resounded through the air and pain exploded once more through Stiles' head, but instead of white, his vision suddenly went black. The white of the snow amongst the trees reappeared a moment later, but darkness now tinted the edge of his vision – threatening to take it away again. Suddenly all he could think of nothing other than the intense and all-consuming need to just sleep – _please_ , please just let me go to _sleep_ –

An almighty _roar_ suddenly sounded throughout the forest, crashing through Stiles' body and sending his ears ringing in pain. Thomas' grip weakened as the werewolf flinched, but then he was righting himself once more and the next thing Stiles knew he was being thrown across the clearing, just as a figure appeared out of the corner of his eye, smashing into Thomas' side.

Stiles rolled in the snow until he came to an abrupt stop, his body laying motionless on its side. His head throbbed loudly in pain, as though a drum were being beaten inside his skull; a fire was raging in his stomach and a scorching pain was searing along his arms. He struggled to stay awake, to watch the fight between the two people that was happening in front of him, but it was no use. As his vision began to darken, he managed to catch a final glimpse of Thomas, whose claws were out and teeth were bared, as he fought against a obscured and wavering figure. The figure let out another roar, one that reminded Stiles of someone very familiar and he watched as, just before his vision turned to black, the figure's form began to change and morph, until suddenly it was standing on all fours, its body covered in fur and its snout bared in an angry snarl, and –

The sight before him faded away, as Stiles fell into the cold, inviting arms of darkness.

* * *

Stiles woke to the sound of snuffling, something cold and wet nudging against his neck. He groaned, motioning for the thing to go away and leave him alone, but his movements seemed to only spur the thing further, and the nudging increased until finally Stiles wrenched his eyes open and looked up. He blinked rapidly for a few moments, his eyes taking in a sight his brain wasn't ready to receive.

The dark form in front of him was a mass of fur and mismatched darkness, with two red eyes staring intently into his own. Stiles frowned in confusion, wondering what on earth it was that he was looking at, until at last his vision began to clear and with a start, Stiles realised that what he was looking at was a – a –

A wolf.

Stiles gave a shout of startled surprise, his body immediately jerking backwards and away from the massive creature. It was then that he realised that he was laying in a den of snow and that he was in fact outside, surrounded by trees and mountains and –

A scorch of fire suddenly tore through his stomach and Stiles gasped, hissing as his arm wrapped around his middle, trying to push the pain back. He automatically curled in on himself, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as his teeth clenched together, a groan escaping his lips. He heard something whining nearby but he ignored it, focusing instead on riding out the painful burning in his stomach, as he slowly became aware of another pain radiating from his head – a headache unlike anything he'd ever felt before, as though someone had taken a bat and had beaten it over his head, over and over and over again….

He didn't know how long he laid there, only that he eventually started feeling something nudge against his side once more, the movement carefully avoiding his stomach. The something that was nudging him – which Stiles vaguely realised to be a snout – moved up along Stiles' arms, which felt unusually hot, until they reached his neck and eventually his face. Stiles buried his face in the snow, trying to ignore the unwanted intrusion, wanting only to be able to go back to sleep – he was so _cold_ – but then suddenly something warm and wet began pulling across his throat and cheek, and Stiles was forced to open his eyes once more.

His thoughts came quicker to him this time and he watched as a large, dark-brown wolf hovered over him, stopping in its movements long enough to catch Stiles' gaze. Stiles stared back at the wolf with wide eyes, his heart beginning to beat faster and faster as the realisation of the danger he was in began to take hold. He swallowed, trying not to make any sudden movements, while at the same time trying to rapidly think of some way that he could get out of this situation.

The wolf let out a huff and stepped forward; Stiles instinctively pushed himself back, trying to keep as much distance from himself and the wolf as possible. "G-go away," Stiles stuttered out, hoping that maybe noise would somehow spur the animal leave. It was then that Stiles realised just how cold he was; he looked down and saw that his jacket was completely torn open, his shirt ripped and stained with what Stiles could only assume was blood. Stiles continued to try and push himself away from the animal, but his feet proved only to slip and slide against the snow and ice.

The wolf moved closer once more and Stiles' breathing hitched in fear. A shudder ran through his entire body and his teeth clenched painfully together as his body fought against the freezing winter air.

The wolf continued to step closer, a low whine emanating from its throat, and Stiles continued to try and move back, but it was no use. "P-please," Stiles managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "D-don't, d-don't…." Stiles didn't know what he was trying to say – don't eat him? Don't dig his teeth into his neck and rip his throat out? Don't make him wait too long for death?

It was then that Stiles randomly thought of Scott, suddenly wondering what had happened to him, where his friend had gone. Memories of what had happened between arriving in the mountains and now were fuzzy, and Stiles fought to try and remember where the werewolf had gone. They'd come in together from the mountains, having spent over a week locked in a cage, and –

Stiles blinked, his brows furrowing in a frown. No, that didn't make sense. No, they had driven to the mountains, they were there are on spring break. They were going to try and find Ran Gore, and –

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, leaning over as a wave of nausea rolled through his stomach and up his esophagus. He swallowed, pushing the sick back, but it was no use. A moment later he was puking into the snow, the muscles in his stomach spasming as the inside of his throat burned. He heaved in heavy breaths, trying to get his body under control, but the breathing only proved to spur the sick forward and he leaned over the snow, up-chucking twice more before they turned to dry heaves. After what felt like an age, Stiles finally leaned away, falling onto his back in exhaustion.

A high-pitched whine sounded and a wet nose pushed against his cheek, and Stiles was forced to open eyes that he hadn't realised he'd closed. He stared half-lidded at the wolf in confusion, wondering why the beast hadn't eaten him yet, but feeling far too tired to really ponder the question. He closed his eyes again and moved his head, hoping that the wolf would lose interest and eventually clamber away, or would just get the whole thing over with. The minutes passed, however, and there was no such luck. Instead, the wolf only drew closer, continuing to push against Stiles' body with its snout. The movement eventually got so annoying that Stiles was forced to open his eyes again, wishing beyond hope that the stupid animal would just leave him alone and let him _sleep_.

Stiles glared at the wolf as his body wracked in a deep shudder, the cold seemingly permeating every bone in his body. The wolf didn't seem to care about his annoyance, though, and instead leaned its head down to Stiles' arm, its mouth opening and biting down on the sleeve of Stiles' jacket. It began to pull on it, moving his arm and tugging his body away from his makeshift den, and out into the untouched snow.

Stiles reacted immediately, pulling back against the wolf, scrambling to try and somehow get to his feet. "You stupid –." Stiles swore, "F-for fuck's sake, let me g-go you st-stupid wolf! Y-you had your chance, you can't just decide to t-take me for a walk, you d-dumb a-animal…." But his words had no effect, as the wolf continued to pull him across the snow in what Stiles now realised was a clearing surrounded by trees.

After a few moments Stiles finally came to a stop and his arms whirled as he tried to sit up, fighting against the snow and the cold, until finally he could –

Amongst his flailing, Stiles' hands suddenly came into contact with something soft and he stopped his movements, blinking as he grasped the object beneath his fingers and lifted it up before him.

Stiles frowned as he took in the sight of what he now recognised as a jacket – a very torn and shredded jacket, albeit, but a jacket nonetheless – where an equally-torn sweater and shirt lay inside. Stiles stared at it in complete bemusement for a few moments, his brows furrowed together as his brain tired to register just what it was he was seeing.

His eyes eventually drifted downwards until they met a pair of old and shredded jeans, along with a pair of forlorn black shoes. Stiles looked between the clothing for a few more minutes, his head beginning to throb as he struggled to understand what it all meant. The jacket looked very familiar, along with the sweater and even the shoes. He could swear he'd seen them before, heck – he was sure he'd even worn that sweater once. After a few, long moments, he realised with a start that the clothes he was looking at were – were _Scott's_.

Stiles' confusion, however, only increased. What the heck were Scott's clothes doing out here in the snow and in the middle of the woods? Why the heck would he have left them here? Had they fallen out of his bag? Or did he randomly decide to take them off, and –

Stiles blinked and his eyes widened, as realisation suddenly hit him. "Oh God," he said aloud, leaning back on his legs. "My best friend is walking around the forest, probably lost, in the middle of winter – _naked!_ "

There was a loud huff from beside him and Stiles was suddenly pushed over as the wolf bumped its head roughly against Stiles' side, its front paws pressing firmly on his legs. Stiles looked up at the wolf in surprise, wondering what on earth it was trying to do. The animal's red eyes were staring intently into his own, never leaving once; as Stiles stared back he could swear there was a hint of annoyance in the wolf's expression, it's familiar red eyes boring into his own, leaving Stiles momentarily stunned, as he gazed back and –

Stiles suddenly stilled.

His familiar red eyes.

His familiar eyes.

His red eyes.

His _alpha_ eyes.

Stiles suddenly jerked back, glancing down at the clothing in his hands before looking back up at the wolf. He continued to look rapidly back and forth, as the sudden thought began to take hold. Could – could the wolf, could the wolf before him actually be – could he be, could he _actually_ be –

A bubble of laughter suddenly burst through Stiles' lips and he immediately started shaking his head. "No," he said, continuing to laugh. "No, it can't be. Oh my Gosh, I must be going freaking _insane!_ It can't – it can't be… I..." Stiles laughed again, unaware of just how tightly he was gripping the clothing beneath his fingers. The wolf let out a huff from its nose and bent down, nudging at the clothes in Stiles' hands. Stiles moved the clothing away, continuing to shake his head as laughter continued to erupt from his chest.

The wolf began pressing its nose against Stiles' thigh and Stiles shifted, but he stayed where he was. "Oh man," he said, wiping a shaky hand against his cheek, unaware of the shivers that had started taking over his body once more. "S-Scott is g-going to get a g-g-great kick out of – of – of this." The wolf whined and began tugging on the clothes, which Stiles allowed him to take before tugging them gently back, his mouth talking all the while: "I m-mean, who would th-think th-that their – their _best friend_ had turned into a w-wolf? I m-mean, a w-werewolf, s-sure – b-but an _actual_ wolf? N-not a – n-not a ch- _chance_." Stiles tugged the shirt back and forth absently with the wolf for a few more moments, his laughter dying away as his thoughts struggled to form through his brain.

Eventually Stiles blinked, suddenly realising just how exhausted he was. He finally tugged the shirt back with what little strength he had, bundling it up along with the jacket and jeans, holding them against his front to block the exposed skin from the cold. He shivered, the shudders wracking through painfully through his body, before ever-so-slowly he got to his feet. Once he was standing he let out a groan, his head suddenly beginning to throb as a rush of noise screamed through his ears.

The wolf was beside him in a second, its large body pressing against his legs as he stood, giving him leverage and steadying his stance. Stiles patted the animal's head absently, not really aware that he was petting a wolf and not a dog. "Th-thanks buddy," he said, struggling to keep his vision focused as he looked around the clearing for what he should do next. "I have to g-go now, though. Hafta… hafta find my friend. He's r-running around naked, and… and it's _really_ cold, so he probably w-will want his c-clothes…."

Stiles took a few steps forward through the snow, before abruptly tripping and stumbling. He began to fall forward but the wolf stopped him, the animal quickly jumping in front of him and breaking his fall. Stiles gripped the wolf's fur in his hands, struggling to right himself before finally standing back up once more. He said nothing, simply taking another step forward, followed by another, and then another, until he was finally, tentatively making his way through the trees.

He didn't know where he was going, he only knew that he needed to find Scott, and preferably find him somewhere warm. It didn't have to be a nice place or anything like that, just _warm_. But first he needed to find Scott. He didn't know where he was or how he got here or where Scott had gone, but he decided that that was something Scott could figure out, once he found him, because he needed to find him. He had his clothes and he just needed to give them to him, he just needed to find him….

Stiles didn't know how long he wandered for, only that one moment he was walking through trees, and the next he was walking in an endless scape of snow. Everything was pure white, save for the muted grey that covered the sky above him. Snow was falling heavily, making it impossible to see the mountains that lay only a few miles away, save for their forest-covered base. A gust of wind picked up, whipping the snow from the ground and the sky, and piercing it into Stiles' face. Stiles squinted, trying to avoid the painful flakes, but it was impossible to evade. It was only after a long while of seemingly endless walking that Stiles suddenly noticed that the wolf from before was still walking beside him, seemingly having never left his side.

Stiles stopped, his legs buried past his knees in the deep snow, his brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at the wolf. The wolf stopped as well, looking up and meeting Stiles' eyes with its own. The two simply gazed at each other for a long while, before Stiles finally broke away and began taking slow steps forward once more, his arms wrapped tightly round his sides. "Y-y-you l-look like Sc-Scott," he said absently, his teeth chattering non-stop in his mouth, making it difficult to speak. His head was pounding ceaselessly, the ringing in his ears never having really gone away. "B-b-b-but Scott isn't a – a – a w-wolf. N-not like th-that, a-anyways…." He eventually came to a stop once more, looking down at the wolf yet again. "B-but you really do l-look like him…." Stiles fell to his knees as the winter wind gusted over him, ruffling his hair and biting his face and neck. Everything felt oddly numb, however, and Stiles didn't really notice.

Unaware of the danger that the movement held, Stiles leaned forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with the wolf, his eyes squinting as he scrutinized the animal before him. The wolf stared silently back, its body completely still. "HEY!" Stiles suddenly shouted and the animal started slightly, before narrowing its eyes and letting out a huff of seeming annoyance. Stiles, however, took no notice. "Are you Scott?!" he asked loudly, still staring into the wolf's red eyes. He didn't know what he expected in response, but the immediate nodding of the wolf's head certainly wasn't it.

Stiles stared incredulously as the wolf's head dipped once, before moving back up, its red eyes meeting Stiles' once more. Stiles' own eyes went wide in disbelief, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Thinking that it had been a mistake, Stiles asked the wolf again if he was Scott, and once again the wolf dipped its head and lifted it back up.

Stiles was at a complete loss for words as he leaned back on his legs, his mouth slightly agape in disbelief. "N-no way," he managed to get out, shaking his head. "Y-you can't – you c-can't –." Stiles leaned down once more, his eyes wide. _"S-Scott?"_ he whispered.

The wolf – Scott? – responded by nodding a third and final time, before bumping his nose against Stiles' chin and pressing his furry neck against Stiles' throat. Warmth immediately began seeping into Stiles' frozen skin and he automatically reached up and wrapped his arms around the wolf's body, his eyes still held wide in incredulity.

The two stayed that way for a few moments, before Stiles suddenly blinked, realisation of what he was doing finally dawning through the fog in his brain. He pushed Scott – the _wolf_ – back, shaking his head. "N-no, it's not – it c-can't be. I'm sitting here hugging a wolf, th-thinking it's my friend w-when he – when he's – when he's actually walking around somewhere, l-lost and – and…."

The shivers that had been wracking Stiles' body before had begun to lessen, and though a voice in the back of his mind told him this was a bad thing, Stiles really couldn't bring himself to care. He looked round, his eyes casting over the endless valleys and mountains of white, searching but seeing nothing. "You're prob'ly waiting for your next meal," he said absently, "and I'm just sittin' here, w-waiting for… for…." Stiles' voice suddenly raised, his hoarse voice shouting as loud as he could across the valley as he struggled to get to his feet: "SCOTT! SCOTT! SCOTT, WHERE ARE YOU?! _SCOTT! SCOT_ –."

Stiles was suddenly cut off as two paws suddenly landed on his side and pushed him roughly down into the snow. A loud bark resounded in Stiles' ears and he flinched, the noise echoing throughout his head and pounding against his skull. He automatically squeezed his eyes shut and curled in on himself, nausea churning threateningly inside his stomach. A low whine could suddenly be heard and he felt something push gently against his chest, as though urging him to move. Stiles finally managed to wrench his eyes open, his gaze meeting that of the wolf's, whose red eyes were peering intently back into his own – as though almost in concern.

Stiles didn't know how he knew, but somehow he just did. "Scott," he whispered, and the wolf let out a snuff and pressed its nose gently into Stiles' neck.

Relief poured through Stiles' body and he found himself relaxing into the snow, not caring that his shoulders and legs were now numb as well, along with his hands and feet. A wave of exhaustion fell over him and Stiles closed his eyes, more than ready to go to slee –

Something warm and wet began dragging across Stiles' cheek, keeping him from falling asleep. The movement disappeared, only to be followed quickly by a loud bark, startling his body and forcing him to open his eyes. Stiles glared at the wolf, trying to push it away, but his arms were too weak and all he could do was nudge his blue and frozen hands against its fur. "Go 'way… le'lemme go…."

Just as his eyes began to close once more, the wolf leaned down and grasped Stiles' sleeve, and suddenly Stiles was being wrenched backwards, the wolf dragging his body across the snow. Stiles tried to move, tried to make it let go of him, but his efforts were useless; it was too cold and he found that he was just too tired to really care.

Eventually he came to a stop near a tree, and Stiles felt a bit of energy seep into his body at its touch. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach, which, though completely numb, still managed to throb painfully with a dull ache. A shiver shuddered once through his body and Stiles closed his eyes, pressing his frozen cheek against the soft flakes of the snow. He knew he should get up, that he should keep moving, that the worst thing to do was to go to sleep, but as with everything else right now – he just didn't care.

A low whine sounded again and Stiles felt a warm nose press against his neck, but this time he didn't react, letting the wolf – Scott – do whatever he wanted. After a few moments the wolf barked again, but Stiles did nothing. The wolf pawed the ground a few times, whining ceaselessly in its throat, before finally it moved forward and leaned down, covering Stiles' body with its own. Warmth seeped into Stiles' skin and he relished in it, reaching out and burying his fingers in the wolf's warm, fur coat.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, nothing but the sound of the gusting wind and the wolf – _Scott's_ – quiet breathing beside him. Stiles stared into the white void through the trees, his fingers continuing to remain frozen despite the wolf's warmth. After a long moment, he spoke: "You know, I didn't hug my dad goodbye." His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as he continued to stroke the wolf's fur, not caring that the animal – _Scott_ , it was _Scott_ – couldn't understand him. "I just wanted to leave, to… to save everyone as fast as I could, and then my p-powers…." Stiles took a shuddering breath. "I shouldn't have shown him… I shoulda just left, but… but he needed to know. H-he _needed_ to know what I was, who I am, in c-case I… in case I…." His arms unconsciously gripped tighter around the wolf's back, a lump lodging itself deep in his throat. His voice was hoarse and nearly gone, his vocal cords freezing along with the rest of his body. His last words were soft and quiet, filled with guilt and regret: "I should have hugged him goodbye. I should have hugged him goodbye, one last time…."

The wolf felt Stiles' body go lax beneath him and the he looked down to see the human's eyes now closed, his breath coming out in the barest of fog against the cold air. He whined low in his throat, nudging the boy's face, but the human refused to wake up. _Danger_ screamed through every sense the wolf had, as the scent of coming death began to emanate from the body beneath him.

The wolf rose off the human and began pushing at him ceaselessly, licking his neck and his face and his hands, trying and trying to wake him up, to get him to move, to do anything – but it was futile. The wolf eventually stepped back and turned round, taking in deep breaths of the air, searching for a scent – for _any_ scent – that could help him, that could save the boy, the human, his _friend_ –

Running out past the treeline and into the white-covered valley, the wolf raised its head and let out a loud, desperate howl, begging for someone – anyone – to help them, before it was too late. He waited for a moment, hoping to hear a reply, but the only howl that was returned was the howl of the wind. Eventually the wolf gave up and turned round, stepping lightly through the snow and back to the human, who had remained just as he had left him, unconscious in the snow.

The wolf whined as it began pushing against the human's body once more with abandon, nudging against his chest, his stomach, his legs, his throat. Desperation pulling at every thought and movement, knowing that the human needed shelter, needed warmth, needed care, needed it _now_ –

Unexpectedly, something caught his eye as a bright light suddenly reflected from the human's chest. The wolf stilled as the object fell from inside the human's jacket and landed on the ground, disappearing into the snow. The wolf immediately began sniffing at it, moving and pushing the snow away until he realised what the object was.

It was a shard; a piece of glass surrounded with a mixture of both worn and jagged edges, its mirror smudged and covered in streaks.

There was something different about the mirror, the wolf knew, something foreign, something strange. Something familiar. He pawed at it a few times before sniffing at it once more, a low whine rumbling through his throat. His human needed help, his human was dying; he needed help, he needed _help_. They needed help, and there was no one – there was _no one_ –

Suddenly, like a switch being turned on, the glass erupted in a flash of bright, white light. The light shone out into the darkening sky, its rays dancing off the trees and dark-brown fur of the wolf's coat, reflecting off the snow and surrounding them until the wolf was forced to shut its eyes against its onslaught. He then felt something start to pull at him, tugging and yanking him in, like a sudden vortex of wind that refused to let go. The wolf instinctively stood over the unconscious human, protecting him with all he had, fighting against the pull, until at last the light burst forth one last time, and the wolf around them disappeared.

* * *

A/N: No story is complete without some good ol'e Stiles whump, right? ;)

Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! I'd love to hear from you :)


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Time to grab your coffees and bookmarks again folks, yet another crazy-long chapter.

* * *

When Scott opened his eyes, he was left momentarily stunned at the sight of a large, open glade, covered with grass and surrounded on all sides by tall, vast trees. He blinked at the jarring sensation the sudden change in environment brought, as a warm breeze passed over his fur and the leaves of the trees shimmered in the wind, not a single sight of snow to be found.

He felt a heartbeat thrum beneath him and Scott suddenly remembered that Stiles was beneath him; he looked down, but the elemental's eyes were still closed in unconsciousness. He sniffed round his face and neck, searching for the scent of cold and death that had been there only a short time before. Though the human smelled better than before, it was only slight – and Scott knew that – wherever they were – they were still very much in danger.

Scott looked up, smelling the air as he looked out onto the setting sun, dusk falling across the trees, searching for a scent – any scent – that told him they weren't alone. He registered the smell of a stranger only moments before he spotted them, the person – the girl – having suddenly appeared right in front of them.

Scott jumped, startled, his lips immediately pulling back in a snarl, bending over Stiles' body with his own as he glared at the human female.

The woman immediately raised her hands, kneeling down and leaning back as she quickly began to speak: "Whoa whoa whoa," she said, her eyes wide but firm. She caught Scott's eye, never letting go. "It's okay Scott, it's okay – I'm here to help you, I'm here –." Scott let out an angry bark, startled at her knowing his name, but the woman refused to be deterred: "Scott!" she shouted, her voice letting off a spark of anger, "stop this! I told you, I'm here to help you – I'm here to help you and Stiles. My name is Alayna, I live here and –."

Scott immediately stopped his snarling, an unexpected whimper escaping his throat as he stilled.

Alayna. She… she was the woman that Stiles had met in the mirror; the one that had helped him discover his powers and who had told him about the prophecies. She was the one that Stiles had risked his neck for – risked both their necks – to get the mirror, the portal – the one whose shard he had kept in his pocket for over six months now; the one that he'd caught him staring at every so often when he thought he wasn't looking – with an expression that Scott couldn't quite read, with a frown that he couldn't quite understand….

A few moments passed in silence, before the woman – Alayna – let out the breath she'd been holding and slowly brought her hands down to her knees. She moved them to a place behind her back that Scott couldn't see and he instantly tensed, on guard for what was to come, not knowing if she was going to help them, or –

She pulled out a brown, wool-blanket and Scott relaxed, though remaining wary of what she was going to do. Alayna brought the blanket forward, explaining what she was doing as she did: "I'm going to lay this on you, okay? Believe me, you'll be thanking me in a moment."

Scott couldn't help but duck back as Alayna lifted the blanket and rested it over his body. His instincts urged him to shirk it off, its presence uncomfortable and smothering, but before he could do so Alayna grasped his face, his fur pressed tightly against her palms. Her eyes fell over him for a few moments, before she took her hand and caressed it over his forehead and down his neck. Scott stood frozen where he was, unable to tear his eyes away from the young woman's face. Her skin was pale and glistened with what Scott smelled as sweat, her cheeks sunken slightly into her jaw, her hair stringed and damp. She smelled of sickness, and Scott couldn't help but wonder what was wrong.

A moment later her eyes closed and the two sat in silence for a few moments, before her mouth started to move in a silent whisper. What felt like warm water washed over Scott, and the next thing he knew his vision was changing, grey and black images filling with colour, his senses becoming slightly muted as he felt his body shift. A few seconds later he was falling onto his backside – his human backside – his stunned hands quickly grasping the blanket and pulling it round his shoulders.

Before he could even open his mouth, Alayna was leaning forward over Stiles, pressing her hand against his cheek, his lips still tinted with blue, his skin still as white as the snow they'd just left. "What happened?" she asked, her eyes falling quickly over the elemental as she moved her hand to Stiles' forehead, then proceeded to close her eyes. Scott watched as the tips of her fingers began to shimmer with a pink glow, the light seeping into Stiles' skin. His eyes followed a line of sweat as it fell down her temple.

Scott swallowed, his body still getting used to the fact that it was no longer covered in fur and was being orchestrated by human-muscles once more. "Hyp – hypothermia," he finally spat out, his eyes flickering between the woman and his friend. "We were in the mountains, and… and we were attacked. He hit his head and he didn't – he couldn't…." He breathed. "He was delirious, he threw up, and… and then he started falling asleep. It was cold, and his body… he couldn't stay awake and his heartrate was lowering, and – and…." Scott trailed off, watching as Alayna waved her hands to the side, and a moment later a pile of wood and sticks appeared, alighting a moment later in flame. She waved her hand again and a thick blanket appeared, gently settling over Stiles' body.

Scott shifted, moving forward until he was on his knees beside his friend. He stared at Stiles for a long moment, eyes roaming over his face, his chest, his hands – his nose trying to find any scent of the sickness or death that had been there before. With great relief, he could no longer find them. Sighing, Scott sat back on his legs, clenching the edges of the blanket tightly together. "Will he be okay?" he asked, looking up at the woman with large eyes.

Alayna sat back, moving her legs to the side as she ran a hand over her face and nodded, looking weary and exhausted. "Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, he will be fine. Physically, at least. He was thankfully able to get here in time, before… before it was too late."

Scott frowned, lines creasing between his brows in bemusement. "What do you mean, 'physically'?"

Alayna stared into the distance, seemingly lost in thought, before she shook her head. "Nothing. I mean nothing."

Scott tensed, swallowing as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Finally after a long moment, he spoke: "You're the woman who helped Stiles, aren't you? The one he met in the mirror, when he… when he was with Givens. The one who told him he was an elemental – that he was the _Blessed_."

A wry grin settled across Alayna's face. "Yes," she said, though from the sounds of it, she wasn't entirely pleased with the fact. "My name is Alayna. Alayna Asterleigh."

They settled into an uncomfortable silence, Scott watching Alayna as Alayna watched Stiles, until finally Scott could keep silent no longer: "Why did you bring us here?" he asked, his eyes drifting to Stiles' prone body once more. He was glad to see that the light-blue that had coloured his lips was now gone, a pink tint starting to return to his face once more.

"You would have rather I left you in the snow to die?" she replied, her eyes never leaving Stiles, her hand stroking his cheek as her fingers continued to shimmer with light.

Scott lightly huffed. "No, that… that's not what I meant. What I meant was, how did – how did you know we needed help? How did you know –."

"I knew you needed help, so I used my magic to bring you here." She was silent for a moment, then said, "I know what is happening. I know about Ran Gore, about his attempt to capture you, and how he is now seeking to take all the souls from your town and use them to feed his own. I know that he has kidnapped your friends, and I know that if you do not find them soon, that they _will_ die."

Scott stared at her, his eyes wide in incredulity. "Wh-what – but how –."

"It doesn't matter how," she said, her voice holding the slightest bite. "All that matters is that you both heal as fast as you can, that you stop him – because if you don't, if you don't, he will… he will…." Alayna's fingers began trailing their way down Stiles' neck, the cuts from Thomas' nails disappearing as they did, before she pushed the blanket away and began to gently move her hand along his chest. As she reached the rise that lay beneath his shirt, she frowned, and proceeded to lift the torn fabric away. At the sight of the ropes that were wrapped around his chest and criss-crossed down his arms, her brows narrowed together, her eyes wide. "What's this?" she whispered, her voice low and pulled taut.

"Those are his ropes," Scott said, eyeing Alayna carefully, tensing at the change in her countenance. "They bind his powers, the elements, so he –."

"Why do they need to be bound?" Alayna interrupted, her eyes continuing to stare at Stiles' arms, her hand still holding up the fabric of his shirt. When Scott didn't immediately reply, she snapped her head up, her eyes wide with fear and incredulity. "Why do they need to be bound?!"

"B-because he couldn't control them!" Scott explained. "His powers, after Ran Gore tried to take his soul, his powers went crazy and he couldn't stop them – they just started lashing out, so Deaton, he – he wrapped his arms in rope, magic rope, so that they could be contained, and he – and he could –."

The anger in Alayna's eyes broke and she sat back, her face stricken with what Scott could only describe as horrified guilt. She leaned back, her hands covering her mouth and nose as her brows narrowed, her eyes beginning to fill as she looked down at Stiles' arms in anger. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, her words seeming to be directed at no one but herself: "I knew this would happen. I _knew_ this would happen. I knew it, and yet – and yet I still –." She tore her hands away from her face and laid them over the ropes on Stiles' arms, biting her lip as she held back a pained cry. "They're burning him," she said, running her fingers over his exposed skin. "His powers are trying to get out, trying to heal him, trying to _help_ him, and they're – and they're _hurting_ him –."

Alayna stared for a few more minutes in silence, her body completely still, before she suddenly took a deep, shuddering breath, holding it for a few moments as she closed her eyes. When she opened them, her gaze was steady, but the guilt within them remained. She gripped Stiles' rope-bound arm, before releasing it and covering him once more with the woolen-blanket.

After a moment of silence, Scott spoke: "What… what do you mean?" he asked tentatively, not sure how the woman that he barely knew would react. "What do you mean that you knew this would happen? Did you – did you know that Stiles was going to lose control of his powers? Did you know Ran Gore was going to try and take his soul, and –."

"I did not know that Gore would go after him as he did," she said, her once-shaking voice now firm and steady. "If I had, I would have brought you both here long ago. But… but I _did_ know..." She took a deep breath. "I knew that his control was weak, that his he needed so much more instruction than I had been able to give him. I knew that his powers had a tendency to act on their own, that he allowed them to move as they willed, taking no control over them, because he knew no better….

"But everything… everything just happened so fast, his powers – his being the _Blessed_ – they weren't supposed to surface until he was older, until he was in his twenties, until he was ready to accept them, use them, _train_ them…." Alayna's eyes narrowed once more, her mouth setting in a angry frown. "But that – that _bitch_ , Alice Givhan, had to find his name, had to find where he was, and –." She broke away, the glade falling into silence, save for the crackling of the fire and Stiles' deep, quiet breaths. After a moment, Alayna whispered, "This is all my fault. _This is all my fault_ …."

Scott watched the woman as she battled her inner turmoil, not sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Finally, with a quiet but firm voice, Scott said, "Alayna?"

Alayna did not look up, but her body stilled.

Scott took a deep breath. "Alayna, we need to defeat Ran Gore. We have to destroy him, but we… but we don't know how. Do you… is there anything you can tell us about him, is there anything you know, or –."

"Yes."

Scott fell silent, watching as the features on Alayna's face changed, as her thoughts turned from grief and guilt to the situation at hand. Her jaw clenched and she sat back, her blue eyes rising to finally meet Scott's. "Yes," she repeated, her gaze drifting to the side as thoughts began to run through her mind. After a long moment of silence, she spoke: "Ran Gore is a greedy, lustful, manipulative bastard, who murdered an entire town of people so that he himself would never have to ever face death, so that he could gain strength and power. But he was a fool – a great fool; and in securing his immortality, he also secured his prison – literally. He had tried to take the town's souls once before, the moment he'd made his deal with that – that _monster_ ; but he was stopped before he it could be accomplished. A great man stopped him, a wonderful man. But their salvation did not last, and sixteen years later Ran Gore tried again, and this time he succeeded."

Alayna swallowed, her brows narrowed and her eyes dark as she looked back up at Scott. "And now the last of the souls that he took are finally about to be absorbed, and so he is looking for more. And he's chosen your home of Beacon Hills, because that is also Stiles' home – the home of the _Blessed_ ; the one being who would be strong enough to connect him to the city, and whose soul would provide great strength and power to his own, more than a thousand humans."

Alayna smirked. "But he was a fool, as he has ever been. He grievously underestimated the power and strength of the Blessed; he did not know that trying to take a _Blessed's_ soul would be akin to awakening a sleeping dragon. A _Blessed's_ soul is extricably intertwined with their powers; it is all but impossible to remove it, and more than foolish to try. But Gore was never known for being particularly smart, even when he was human…."

Scott watched Alayna for a moment longer, before finally asking the question that mattered the most more than any other: "Is there… is there a way to defeat him? Can be he stopped?"

Alayna met Scott's eyes once more, her once-broken gaze now strong and firm. "Souls cannot be kept just anywhere, when removed from their body – they need a vessel. There is a stone, an emerald, deep in the mountains, that has the power to contain them. Gore mined this stone the day he made the deal to receive his powers. He now wears the stone around his neck; destroy the stone, and Gore's life force – literally – will be gone. That is the only way he can be killed. That is the only way he can be stopped."

The sun that had been setting behind the trees suddenly darkened, and the dusk that had been creeping on the clearing suddenly fell over it in a hush, casting them into darkness. The light of the fire flickered off Alayna and Scott's faces, shadows dancing across their bodies. Alayna's head snapped up and she looked round, staring off into the distance for a long moment before finally turning back to Scott, her lips pressed tightly together and her shoulders heavy. Seeing her underlying fear, Scott said, "That's good, isn't it? That we know how to defeat Ran Gore? We don't even have to fight him, we can just steal the emerald, and –."

"Gore is not as easy a foe as you think he is," Alayna interrupted, her voice quiet. "He may act eccentric and unaware, but he will know that you are coming. He will know what you will try to do – and he will not let you achieve it. He already knows you're in the mountains, and he will be ready for you." Her eyes turned, staring imploringly into Scott's. "Ran Gore is an evil man, Scott. You have already seen some of what he can do, but you have not seen it all. He is ruthless, and one of the most selfish and unkind person that I have ever known. He does not like to be made fun of, he does not like to lose – in any form. And after being humiliated twice by the True Alpha and the _Blessed_ already…. He will seek you out – he _is_ seeking you out. And he will stop at nothing to find you, and he will stop at _nothing_ to kill you." She swallowed, her teeth clenching in her jaw. "But not before making you suffer, first."

The fire began to die down, and it was then that Scott realised just how strained Alayna's face and body were, sweat now running freely down her cheeks and along her neck, blue-veins visible on both sides of her temples. A too-familiar scent hit his nose, and it was then that Scott suddenly realised what was happening. "You're dying," he stated, staring at Alayna in shock. "Your place, this world – _you_ – you're all dying." As though in response to his revelation, a tree crashed to the ground off in the distance, followed quickly by another.

Alayna smiled, but her eyes were hard. "Yes," she said, not even bothering to try and deny it. "Yes, I am dying. That's why I couldn't bring you here before now; that's why I couldn't help you in these past six months, why I had to stay silent for all this while."

Scott looked at her incredulously. "But why?! Why are you – how are you –." He paused, frowning as he tried to understand. A thought suddenly whispered in the back of his mind, and his eyes widened. "You're… you're connected to Ran Gore, aren't you? Somehow, someway you're – you're…."

Alayna's smile broadened, her pale skin shimmering in the light of the fire. "You're smarter than they give you credit for, Scott McCall. The _True Alpha_." Her lips pressed together once, before continuing. "This place, the reason I'm here… it's all thanks to Ran Gore. And now as he dies, and absorbs –." Her words broke and she swallowed, her voice holding the barest hint of a tremor as she continued: "As he absorbs the last of his souls, this world begins to die. And once this world is gone, I'll have no where else to go, and I… I will die as well."

Scott rose to his feet just as another crash was heard in the woods. "No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "No, if that's – if that's the case, then you'll come with us. You'll come with us back to the mountains, back to Beacon Hills. We can take care of you, we can protect you, we can –."

"No, Scott," Alayna, said, rising to her feet as well. She brushed down her skirts, before leaning down and taking the fallen bundle of clothing that had been left at Stiles' feet. She cast her hand over it once, her fingers shimmering with light, and the torn fabric instantly repaired itself. She handed them to Scott. "Here," she said. "Get dressed. I'll do the last bit of healing that I can before you leave."

She turned and headed back over to Stiles. Scott wanted to protest, to argue with her, to insist that she could be saved, but his words fell away as he dropped the blanket and quickly put on his clothes. Once he was finished he walked over to them, watching as Alayna ran her hand over Stiles' body one last time before settling back with a nod. "Okay," she said, getting back to her feet. "You'll have to carry him. But don't worry – I've told an old friend of mine where you are, and they should be there to meet you shortly after you arrive." She tucked the edges of the blanket around Stiles' body carefully, before looking pointedly up at Scott. Not knowing what else to do, Scott placed his arms under Stiles' body and lifted him up.

More crashes resounded in the distance and the fire's light dimmed, just as the earth began to shake. Alayna quickly moved past Scott and began waving her hands, and then holding out her arm. Her fingers glowed and a moment later the portal shimmered to life.

Scott was torn; on the one hand he wanted to stay, he wanted to help this woman – but on the other hand he knew that they needed to get out, that they needed to return to the mountains and defeat Ran Gore and save their friends, their family, their town. He wanted to do something for Alayna, wanted to show her his thanks in some way for what she had done for them – for what she had done for Stiles – but he didn't know how.

Stepping towards the portal, Scott gripped Stiles tighter in his arms, hoping that once they reached the other side, that he would be okay. He had a million more questions for the woman in the mirror – for Alayna – but he knew that there was no time, not as Lydia and Malia and Liam were waiting for rescue, not as Alayna's world was crashing down around them. He wanted to know more of who she was, how she was connected to Ran Gore, and what all this stuff about the _Blessed_ and the Darkness really was, but he couldn't, there was no time –

As Scott moved past the woman, Alayna suddenly spoke. "Scott?"

Scott turned, staring at her with wide eyes as he swallowed, waiting expectantly.

Alayna stared at him for a silent moment, her eyes hesitant as she bit her lip, before she finally spoke. "Scott, your role in this…." She took a breath, pushing her shoulders back. "You are far more important than you realise, Scott. Stiles' future will be long and difficult, and yours will be intrinsically bound with his. He will need you far more than either of you realise. You will both need each other. So be prepared – because the Darkness is coming, and the world will need both of you – the _Blessed_ and the True Alpha – if it is going to be defeated."

Scott swallowed, a great rumbling resounding throughout the sky as the ground began to shake harder, trees crashing every few seconds in the distance. He stared at Alayna's face, at her sickly pallor and the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders, and he tried one last time to convince her: "Please," he said, imploring her to heed his pleas. "Please, just come with us – if you stay here, you're going to die. At least let us try and help you, at least let us –."

"I'm sorry Scott, but I can't."

"Why not?!"

"Because it wouldn't work. I was always meant to die here, I was never going to escape. It was my future. It was my destiny. And now it's arrived, and I can't stop it. I can't, no matter how much I might want to. So I –."

"No."

Both Scott and Alayna stilled, and their eyes turned down to the person in Scott's arms.

Stiles stared up through half-lidded eyes, struggling to move as he shook his head, his eyes fastened solely on Alayna. "No," he repeated. His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper, but his words were strong. "You haf… you hafta come with us. You can't stay here, You hafta come with us." He stretched out his hand, reaching towards her.

Alayna shook her head once more, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she reached out and grasped Stiles' fingers in her own, squeezing them tight in a final goodbye. "Everyone dies, Stiles," she said, the edges of her mouth tugging in a pained smile. "Including those who think they're immortal. I'm just sorry my time has come now. There's so much left to teach you, there's so much more that you need to know – that I should have told you long ago, but now… now…." She took a shuddering breath. "You have to leave now – both of you. If you don't, then you'll die here along with me, and you'll never save your friends, and you'll never stop Ran Gore. I'm just sorry that I couldn't help you more – I'm sorry that I can't help you now, with your powers, with your control, with your – "

Stiles' eyes were now fully open and his brows were narrowed in a dark frown, his jaw clenched tightly together as his own eyes began to shine. "I'll save you," he said; his words were quiet, but his voice was strong.

Alayna just shook her head with a smile. "You can't save everyone, Stiles."

The ground began to shake harder and Scott fought for balance as loud shrieks and piercing cries began to fill the air. Alayna started and quickly stepped forward, all but pushing Scott and Stiles into the portal. "Go, go now," she said urgently.

Scott began to step through the portal, the vortex pulling him in, but he was forced to stop as he realised that Stiles' hand was still holding on to Alayna's.

"I'm going to save you," Stiles said firmly. "I promise."

Alayna let out a choked laugh, her voice breaking as she spoke: "I am sorry, Stiles, I really am. I'm sorry for all of this. But you… you can do it. I know you can. You have the power of all the elements – Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. But you also have the power to control them. And I know you can take that control and defeat Ran Gore."

The vortex began to pull harder on Scott's body and he was forced to take another step in. The wind rushed around his body and roared through his ears and he watched as, with one final shimmer from Alayna's fingers against Stile's hand, their hold broke, and Scott stepped fully back into the portal, watching as Alayna's smiling figure disappeared into the light.

* * *

Scott blinked, a shiver running through his body as a gust of cold wind nearly knocked him to the ground. Snow was suddenly pressed against his legs and he realised that he was kneeling, his arms still wrapped around the bundled-blanket that was Stiles, a bundled-blanket that was starting to move.

Scott quickly set Stiles down, his eyes scanning the wasteland of a snow-filled forest that they had been dropped in. Sniffing the air and seeing that they were alone, Scott turned his attention to his friend. "Stiles," he said, helping the elemental sit up, "Stiles, are you okay?"

Stiles struggled to sit up, but eventually managed to move forwards with Scott's help. He started to push the restrictive blanket away, but as the cold air began to bite against his skin, he quickly pulled it back closed. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments, trying to push away the fog that had clouded his mind, trying to sort through the jumble of thoughts and feelings of fear that were coursing through his body.

Alayna. _Alayna_. Stupid, _stupid_ Alayna – she had pushed them away, refused their help, refusing to be saved, no matter how hard he'd tried, no matter how much he'd pleaded, she still – she still –

Stiles groaned, his temples suddenly throbbing with pain, the breaths in his lungs beginning to quicken. He leaned forward, tucking his head between his knees and covering them with the blanket, a momentary reprieve from the rest of the painful and chaotic world. He focused on keeping his breaths calm, on keeping them firm and steady, on not letting himself shout and scream and cry as he so desperately wanted to.

He focused instead on trying to remember how he had gotten here; he remembered following Thomas, Darius' packmate, into the valley – trying to keep his eyes on him as the snow began to fall faster and faster, the wind picking up and sending the crystal flakes flying into their faces, stinging their eyes and cheeks as they tried not to lose their guide. But it hadn't… it hadn't worked, and Thomas, he'd disappeared into the distance and they… they had _lost_ him. Only they hadn't, because when they'd made into the trees they suddenly found him, and – and –

Stiles' eyes suddenly snapped open and he raised his head from his makeshift cocoon, the cold winter wind eagerly biting into his face and neck, but he didn't pay it any attention, as all the memories of what had happened came back to him in a rush.

"Stiles?" Scott's voice said tentatively. It was then that Stiles realised that Scott's hand was on his back, and his eyes were looking at him with what had to now be a permanent fixture of worry and concern.

Stiles took a breath and clenched his jaw. "That bastard betrayed us," he said, Thomas' smirk flashing behind his eyes, the pain of his claws digging into his neck and stomach echoing across his skin. Stiles' hand unconsciously went to his throat, rubbing it gently, the wounds now barely-noticeable imprints in his skin. He then remembered Thomas cracking his skull against the tree, not once but twice – and his fingers trailed to the back of his head, weaving through his hair and pressing against what was now a barely-noticeable bump. His head still ached where it had been hit, but Stiles knew that it was nothing compared to what it should have been, and he swallowed as the image of Alayna's pale face and sickly body appeared before his eyes once more.

"Do you feel better?" Scott asked, watching as Stiles took in his wounds and injuries, nearly all of which were now healed thanks to Alayna. "Your head, your… your stomach – do they still hurt, or –."

"No," Stiles interrupted, shifting forward and pushing away from Scott. "No, I'm… I'm fine. Alayna was able to heal almost everything. I'm good, I'm… I'm good."

Scott took a deep breath, leaning back on his legs as he ran a hand over his face. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked. "After Thomas, you got real sick, and… and it wasn't good. If Alayna hadn't saved us, we… you…."

A foggy image of wandering through the snow with a large dog by his side suddenly flashed behind Stiles' eyes and he frowned, staring into the distance in bemusement. "There… there was a dog," he said, but his voice was unsure. "I was confused, I – I couldn't figure out what was going on, or…. There was a really big dog, only he wasn't… he wasn't a _dog_ , he was a… a…." Stiles' brows furrowed tightly together. "A wolf?" He shook his head. "But that doesn't make sense, why would there be a wolf when –."

Scott suddenly gave a heavy sigh of exasperation and Stiles turned to him, frowning at him questioningly. A small smile was tugging at Scott's lips, one that he was trying to stave off, but failing to do. "Stiles, dude, that… that wasn't a _dog_ , it was a wolf, and he –."

Stiles' eyes suddenly grew as wide as saucers and he jerked back, his arms flailing in the snow as he tried to stop himself from falling over. His words came out in a rush, his tongue falling over itself as his memory suddenly came back to him. "Y-you – you're – you were – that was you! H-holy shit, that was _you_! Scott!" Stiles' mouth grew wide into a grin, stretching across his face as his eyes continued to remain wide with disbelief. "The wolf was _you_! Scott, holy shit man, you did it! _You changed!_ You changed into a wolf! An actual, real, _full-on_ wolf! I can't – I can't believe it, you did it! You actually did it!"

By now Scott's mouth had stretched into a smile of its own, and he couldn't help but grin as Stiles smacked his arm before gripping and shaking it, his face filled with a thrill and excitement that Scott hadn't seen in what felt like an age.

Stiles continued to congratulate him for a few moments before he suddenly halted, the smile falling off his face as his eyebrows raised in confusion. "But Scott, how did – how did you do it? Before, in the woods, you disappeared and – and then Thomas showed up, and then you – you –."

Scott opened his mouth, about to respond, when suddenly the wind picked up and brushed against his face, his nose suddenly taking in the scent of someone – many someones – nearby. He looked up, his eyes sharp and muscles tensing as he sniffed the air once more, trying to tell if the newcomers were friend or foe, or –

Suddenly the scent registered and Scott fell back like a puppet cut from its strings, relief rushing through his body as he realised who it was.

 _Darius_.

Stiles turned round, trying to see what had taken Scott's attention. He was about to ask what was going on, when suddenly three black spots appeared in the distance amongst the trees, growing closer and closer with every passing second. Before he could even ask who they were, Scott was telling him: "It's Darius," he said, and he slowly began to rise to his feet.

A cold shiver ran down Stiles' spine and he stilled, taking a deep breath. "Scott," he said quietly, "I know you trust them, but we don't – after Thomas, we don't…."

"I know," Scott replied, his gaze never leaving their arriving company.

Stiles closed his eyes, steeling himself for what was to come. He moved, starting to get to his feet, when something slipped from his lap and fell into the snow with a thud. He looked down and saw the mirror's shard lying before him, its glass clouded and reflecting dully into the fading light of the evening. Cracks that hadn't been there before were now scrawled across its surface, creeping from the edges and crawling towards the middle. Stiles swallowed and his jaw clenched tightly before he picked the shard up and set it in the inside pocket of his coat, zipping it firmly shut.

A howl sounded nearby and Stiles quickly stood to his feet, the last vestiges of nausea stirring in his throat, which his promptly fought back. He turned beside Scott and watched as the dark figures in the distance grew closer and closer, until at last they were able to recognise who each of them were. The person leading them in front was Darius, followed closely by the two werewolves that had led him and Scott back to their jeep, a time which felt like an age ago.

Darius smiled as they drew in front of them, looking as tall and regal as he ever did, even out in what felt like the middle of nowhere. The two behind him – Daniel and Jacob, if Stiles remembered correctly – offering brief smiles in greeting. Though no matter how much Stiles was glad to have finally found someone out here, he couldn't bring himself to return the same.

"Scott McCall," Darius said, nodding towards him. "I knew we would meet one another again, but I must admit, I did not think it would be so soon."

"Darius," Scott said stiltedly, his eyes never leaving the other alpha. "How did you know we were here?"

"A mutual friend told me you were in need of help, so here I am. Our kind must look out for one another, especially in times such as these." His eyes drifted past Scott and his lips turned upwards in a small smile. "We will even make exceptions for those that are not of the same blood as us." He nodded towards Stiles. " _Blessed_."

Stiles gritted his teeth, his fingers clenching into fists by his side as he stared hard at each of the werewolves in turn, trying to determine just how trustworthy they – if any of them – were.

After a moment's silence, Darius' smile fell away and his lips slowly turned into a frown, as he finally began to feel the tension that was hovering thick in the air. "What is the matter?" he asked, looking between both Stiles and Scott. "What ails you?"

Finally, after a long minute of silence, Scott spoke: "Did our mutual friend tell you why we needed your help?" he asked.

Darius' brows twitched in a hint of a frown, before his face became stoic once more. "She only said that you were in desperate need of aid," he replied, meeting Scott's gaze head on. "She did not have time to tell us why. We came looking for you as soon as we could –."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles interrupted, his brows narrowed and eyes dark. "You and your oh-so trustworthy pack? Just how many were eager to help, huh? Was one of them named _Thomas_ , by any chance?"

Darius' brows furrowed in a bemused frown. "What do you know of Thomas?" he asked, looking back at Stiles questioningly.

"Oh, not much," Stiles said, his voice biting with sarcasm. "Only that he _claimed_ you guys needed help, that he apparently knew how to help _us_ ; and so he brought us here – only to fucking _betray_ us because as it turns out, the bastard is working for _Ran Gore_." Darius' frown fell and his brows raised in quiet shock, his eyes staring at Stiles in what appeared to be genuine surprise.

Hot anger coursed through his veins, the ropes burning against his skin and Stiles continued: "Yeah, that's right – your so called _family_ , your so supposed _secret club_ and _hidden_ pack had a fucking _traitor_ in it! A traitor that nearly got us killed! And now thanks to him, thanks to all of this, all our friends – Alayna – they're all going to _die_ –."

"Stiles," Scott interrupted, raising his arm in front of his friend, "stop."

Stiles' lungs heaved in his chest as he glared at Darius, unaware of the snow that was melting by his feet, or the trees that were creaking and groaning as they moved and shifted around them.

Darius stared at Stiles a moment longer, before turning his eyes back to Scott, his frown having returned and set deep in his mouth. "Is this true?" he asked.

Scott stared back at him, his gaze never breaking once. "You know it is."

Darius stared at Scott a moment longer, before his eyes lifted and fell across the branches of the trees above them, which were continuing to move and creak, though there was no wind around them. Finally he turned back to Scott, eyeing him carefully. "I promise you, that whatever Thomas has done, the rest of my pack is not a part of it. His choices are his own, and I assure you, he will bear their consequences. But for now it is best if we leave and head back to our territory; it is growing dark, and the mountains have been restless."

He made to move, but both Scott and Stiles stayed where they were. His frown darkened slightly into a glare, and he motioned for them to follow him. "Come," he said, looking pointedly at Scott, anticipating his doubts before he could voice them. "Do you really think that I am not to be trusted? You are a young alpha, Scott McCall, but we both know you are far wiser than that. Or can you truly not tell when one is lying to you, or not?"

Scott could hear Stiles mutter a unkind word towards Darius, but he ignored it. Darius was right – he knew how to listen to the beating of hearts, and he knew that Darius was telling the truth. Besides, Alayna had told him that she would send someone to them when they got back to the mountains, it only made sense that it would be Darius and his pack that rescued them. And in the end, it wasn't like they really had any other choice.

Scott glanced briefly towards Stiles and nudged his head towards Darius, before stepping forward and starting to follow the alpha and his two pack-members as they began leading them down through the trees. He could hear Stiles muttering under his breath about the foolishness and arrogance of wolves, but he continued to ignore him and focused instead on making his way through the snow. A moment later he heard Stiles move, and begin to follow after them.

* * *

They had been walking through the snow for only a couple hours before the sun began to lower and disappear behind the mountains, darkness eventually spreading over the entire sky. The air grew bitingly cold as the clouds dispersed above them, allowing the half-moon and stars to shine through, their bright light reflecting off the snow and illuminating the trees and mountains. Stiles could see everything almost as clearly as though it were day, and he wondered briefly how much longer they would keep walking, his head quietly throbbing as he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself.

Suddenly a log cabin appeared in the distance and Stiles felt ready to collapse with relief. The nausea in his stomach had returned shortly before and his muscles were now feeling incredibly weak. He felt ready to sleep for twelve hours straight.

They arrived at the cabin a few minutes later, Darius opening the door and leading them inside before shutting it tightly behind them. He spoke in low and hushed tones towards his pack-members, and the two quickly disappeared through one of the doors in the back. Stiles watched as they returned a few moments later, arms filled with firewood which they quickly threw in the fireplace, and few minutes later the cabin was filled with a warm, orange glow from the flickering flames.

Stiles made his way over to a chair that stood near the hearth and he sat down, trying to warm up as fast as he could. He could hear Scott talking to Darius off behind him in low voices, and though Stiles wanted to hear what was being said, the pounding in his head and exhaustion on his shoulders made it difficult to really care.

As Stiles stared into the roaring flames of the fire, his thoughts began to wander, drifting from Lydia, to Malia, to Liam – to eventually his father and Melissa and everyone that they had left back in Beacon Hills; everyone who was now in danger of a fate worse than death, of an existence spent locked away for over a hundred years before they were eventually eaten – absorbed – into Ran Gore's body, their lives stolen from them in order to continue his. They were nothing but scraps and kindling for his fire, used only to keep his own flame from ever dying out.

Stiles groaned, running his hands over his face and through his hair, as images of Lydia and Malia, of Liam and Alayna started running through his mind, his heart clenching and lungs constricting with every smile, with every wave, with every memory. They were in trouble, they were trapped – held captive somewhere in the mountains, alone and cold and afraid all because he wasn't able to save them, because his powers were all but useless, because they were bound by this stupid rope, all because he couldn't fucking control them; and now everyone was going to die because of it – they would all suffer and live out the rest of their lives imprisoned, slowly wasting away until they were –

"Hey."

Stiles looked up to see Scott pulling up a chair beside him, a small but weary smile turning at his lips. "Hey," Stiles replied softly, leaning his head against the stone frame of the fireplace.

Scott handed him a cup of water and Stiles took it eagerly, closing his eyes as he drank, not realising just how thirsty he was until the water was touching his lips. When he finished he looked back at Scott, whose own exhaustion was etched across his brow and deep around his eyes. Scott gave him a tight-lipped smile before speaking: "Are you feeling any better?" he asked tentatively.

Stiles quietly nodded. "Yeah," he said. "How about you?"

"Yeah, I'm… I'm doing good."

Stiles heard the hesitation in his voice and saw it in his eyes, and he glanced back at Darius and his two pack-mates, who were currently moving blankets around the two couches and across the floor. He looked back to Scott, who was now gazing unseeingly into the fire. When he spoke, his voice was low, trying to keep what little privacy in a room full of werewolves that he could. "Did you ask them about… about what happened? With you and your… your wolf?"

A smile spread across Scott's lips and he let out a quiet laugh, before nodding his head. "Yeah," he said, rubbing his thumb against his own cold cup of water. "Yeah I did."

"Well? What'd they say? Did they tell you how to turn? How you were able to do it in the first place?"

Scott nodded. "Darius said that the reason I most likely made the shift was because my emotions were high, because there was a danger, a threat – and that there was someone I needed to protect. He said only someone that I strongly, deeply care about could make me shift when I had never done it before – when I didn't know how; that only someone extremely close to me could do that." He fell into silence then looked over at Stiles, peering up at him beneath his brows.

Stiles stared at Scott for a moment, blinking as he took the information in, before leaning back in his chair and brushing his hand under his nose with a sniff. "Hey, well – it's nice to know I'm at least good for something." The smile that had been trying to tug at his lips fell away as his eyes drifted back towards the fire, his thumb pulling absently against the ropes that were wrapped around his arm.

Scott watched Stiles' fingers for a moment, before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, looking back up to Stiles' eyes. "Yeah, well – you're my brother, Stiles. I _philia_ you."

The smile that had been trying to form on Stiles' lips suddenly broke across his face against his will, and Stiles couldn't help but close his eyes and laugh. He looked back at Scott, whose own lips were pulled in a gentle smirk, and he shook his head. "Yeah man, I _philia_ you too."

They fell into a contented silence for a few minutes, listening to the crackling of the fire beside them and the voices of the Darius and his packmates whisper at the other end of the cabin. Eventually, though, the worry and exhaustion that Stiles had been feeling before suddenly returned, and his smile fell away as he ran his hands over his face, leaning back in his chair with a groan. "Scott, Scott what are we… what are we going to do? How can… how are we going to save –."

"We'll save them Stiles, I promise." Scott interrupted softly, his eyes staring intently into Stiles'. "I know you hate my promises, but I haven't failed you yet, have I?"

Stiles didn't say anything, choosing instead to look back into the fire, tucking his hands round his sides as his brows set once more in a heavy frown. "I just… I just can't help but feel that the end is coming. That if we make a mistake now, that'll be it. Everything will be over. We won't have any more chances to save them, to save anyone – and Ran Gore will go on stealing people's souls for hundreds more years to come."

Scott didn't respond, and the two fell into silence once more. After a few minutes, however, Stiles started, and quickly turned back to Scott. "But hey," he said suddenly, "what about turning into a wolf? Did Darius say how you could do it again? How you can shift, preferably without needing someone to nearly die?"

The flames danced in Scott's eyes as he smiled, and he nodded his head. "Yeah, yeah he did. I mean, obviously I haven't tried it yet, so maybe it won't work, but he said… he said that all I needed to do was to latch onto those memories, to remember those feelings of what it was like to… to nearly lose someone you care about, and that that… that should do the trick."

Stiles raised an eyebrow skeptically, giving Scott a pointed look. "Sorry bro, but that sounds _way_ too easy to be legit. Like, seriously? All you have to do is close your eyes and remember your best friend almost dying, and suddenly – poof! – you're a full-on wolf again?" Stiles scoffed, leaning back in his chair once more. "You might as well click your heels three times and wish you weren't in Kansas anymore." He set his cup on his lap and looked back into the fire, reaching out his hand and warming it against the flame.

Scott continued to grin as he shook his head, shifting his cup in his hand as he let out a small laugh. "I dunno, Stiles. It feels… it feels like it could work, y'know? Almost… almost like breaking in a new pair of shoes. It's a bit difficult at first, and they're a bit uncomfortable to move in, but once you've walked around in them for a while, they're just that much easier to get into the second time around. The first time it's a bit rough, but after that… after that it's like riding a bike. You can just… you can just _do_ it."

"You're mixing your metaphors there, buddy," Stiles said, shaking his head, but a smile had pulled at his lips and soon he was taking another drink of water, trying but failing to hide his grin. "But hey, if you think that's all you need to do, then, well… all power to ya."

Scott stared at Stiles for a long time, before Stiles finally shifted under his gaze and sighed. "What?"

"You'll get back your control, Stiles – I know you will. The ropes, your powers… you'll do it. You'll figure it out."

Stiles gave a quite huff, eyes never leaving the flames. "And what makes you so sure about that?"

"Because you already are."

Stiles frowned and turned back to Scott, his brows furrowed questioningly. Scott simply nodded his head towards the fire and Stiles looked back, and it was then that he realised his hand was not merely near the fire, but _in_ it. The flames danced around his palm, weaving through his fingers and brushing warmly against his skin. He knew that his hand should be screaming in pain, that his skin should be red and black and blistered, but instead it was smooth and clear, not a blemish to be seen.

Stiles blinked, turning his arm around a few times, watching the fire continue to burn before he removed it. He held his hand out in front of him, staring at it for a few moments, before looking up and meeting Scott's quiet grin. Before he had time to speak, Darius was walking up behind them.

"It is probably best to get some rest now," he said. "It'll be a few more miles before we reach the border of our territory, and a few more after that until we reach the camp. You'll need all the energy you can get."

The boys both nodded and Darius walked away. Stiles got up and followed Scott to the makeshift beds on the couch, settling down on the cushions and wrapping himself in the blankets.

Scott was right. They would find their friends and they would save them. He would get back control over his powers, and he would stop Ran Gore from stealing people's souls once and for all – no matter what.

* * *

They got ready to leave shortly after dawn the next morning; Stiles had found an old, fur-leather jacket in the back of the cabin and had been more than happy to finally have something that would fight against the wind that seemed insistent on trying to cut through his clothes with every gust. He had no clue how old the jacket was, who the last person that had worn it was, but he didn't really care – he would gladly take warmth over fashion any day.

Stiles was the last to leave the cabin, shutting the door behind him as he stepped out into the snow, the sky white and overcast as snow quietly fell to the ground once more. His eyes fell to Darius, who was talking to Scott a few yards away. Two wolves – who Stiles presumed were Daniel and Jacob – were circling nearby, clearly impatient to be on their way.

He had just started to walk towards them when Scott suddenly closed his eyes, and a moment later his body began to shift. Stiles watched in stunned silence and raised eyebrows as Scott's human body morphed and changed, until suddenly he was no longer looking at Scott, but a wolf instead. Well, he was still Scott, he supposed – _wolf_ -Scott.

Scott raised his head suddenly, spying Stiles and quickly scampering over to him. Stiles raised an eyebrow as wolf-Scott pawed around him, circling him a few times before nudging his hand with his nose, his body clearly saying what his mouth couldn't: _see? I told you so._

Stiles let out a put-upon sigh, shaking his head as he pushed Scott to the side with his foot. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You were right and I was wrong, is that what you want to hear? So now you can go and sniff people's butts, is that what you're looking forward to? Yeah, I bet it is." Stiles heard a low growl rumble in Scott's throat, and suddenly his fingers were being nipped. He quickly pulled them away, scowling at Scott with annoyance. "Hey, hey, hey – " he said, shoving Scott away. "Get out of here. I ain't your chew toy, y'hear?"

He moved past Scott and over to Darius, who was watching their proceedings with a small smile. He frowned when he spotted Scott's clothes lying on the ground and he leaned over, picking them up and turning back towards Scott. "Hey, Balto –" he said, waving the clothes in the air. "You better find a better way to deal with this, 'cause I sure as hell ain't picking up after you every time you decide you want to go gallivanting as a dog." There was a bark, and Stiles rolled his eyes. " _Wolf_ , whatever. All I'm sayin' is that I ain't your housekeeper, okay? Or dog-minder, or… or _whatever_." Scott just walked off, jumping around a bit and letting out another bark, before heading over to the other two wolves. Stiles just shook his head and muttered under his breath: " _Show off_."

"Let us be on our way then," Darius said, his voice holding a hint of mirth. "Our territory is surrounded by a boundary which keeps it hidden from any outsider's view. It keeps us safe from the wandering steps of humans, as well as the prying eyes of our enemies. Once we cross it we will be in our camp; we'll be sure to find something to eat there, and then we will derive a plan with which to get your friends back."

Gathering the clothes into his arms, Stiles began following Darius and the rest of the group as they began making their way through the snow, and back down into the valley.

They trudged for hours through the snow, following a path that clearly only the wolves could see. Stiles watched as Scott would run out and disappear into the distance, before invariably turning back round and waiting for them to catch up, doing so a few more times before Stiles finally told him to calm the hell down and walk beside them like a normal guard-dog. Eventually they fell back and continued on trailing behind them.

Stiles listened as Darius told him of all that had happened since they'd left, how the animals and creatures that had been living on Ran Gore's mountain had completely abandoned it; even the trees were dying, and the earth around the mountain had begun to shake constantly, a deep rumbling sounding from beneath it. And – according to other members of Darius' pack – screams and cries had begun to sound from inside the entrances to the mountain themselves.

It had been only a few days after Scott and Stiles had left to go back to Beacon Hills that the snow had begun to fall; they'd known from the first flake that the weather wasn't normal, their senses alerting them that something was off. They had thought the snow would stop after a few days, but it didn't; instead it increased, growing greater and the winds stronger, until they had all but become buried within it. As a result, the pack's food supply had fallen sharply, leaving many hungry and the pack elders searching for food. But regardless of their conditions, Darius assured him that they would be more than willing to help. They may have received a less-than cordial welcome before, but with all that was going on now, they would be eagerly welcomed back.

As they neared the Colorado Pack's territory, Stiles dropped Scott's clothes on the ground, giving him time to change before they arrived. They were really going to have to find a better solution to the sans-clothes thing, if this shifting-business was going to become a regular thing.

Relief washed over Stiles at the assurance as they continued to walk, a bit of the weight that he had been feeling before lifting off his shoulders, as he realised that maybe now they stood a chance. Maybe now they would actually pose a threat to Ran Gore, would actually be able to stop him. It was one thing to have one werewolf and a gimped Elemental go after a hundred-plus old soul-eater – that's what Stiles decided to classify him as, under the new bestiary that he had started writing in his head of all the creatures and supernatural entities they'd seen over the past few years, because really – the amount they'd met so far was really rather ridiculous, there had to be only so many that existed in the world –

Stiles was torn from his thoughts when he suddenly felt something twinge within him, and his thoughts immediately turned to the border, realising they must have crossed it. Before he could ask, however, he suddenly collided with Darius' back. His head snapped up, staring at the werewolf in confusion. "Darius?" he asked in bemusement. When Darius didn't move, he frowned, stepping to the side through the deep snow to get around him. "Hey Darius, what are you doin –."

Stiles' eyes fell on the sight that lay before them, and the whole world came to a stop.

Bodies.

Bodies lay every where – men and women, strewn across the snow-covered ground between the trees. Some were laying on their sides, others on their fronts, while others lay on their backs, vacant eyes staring unseeingly into the sky above. Blood was splattered across the ground as though someone had taken a bowl of water and thrown it through the air, sending it flying in every and all directions. It covered the bodies, dripping down the trees as it pooled on the forest floor, staining the white snow in red.

There was a sharp intake of breath and a moment later Daniel, now human, took a few steps forward, stumbling in front of them as he stared at the scene before them with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Stiles felt Scott draw up beside him and the two watched as Jacob and Daniel stumbled to each body, falling to their knees and placing shaking fingers beneath their each person's throat, leaving it there for a long, long moment, before finally moving on to the next.

Stiles' feet began to move forward on his own, his eyes held frozen as he stumbled through the snow, staring at each of the bodies in turn, his gaze falling across the injuries and wounds that each of them had been given; slashes and gouges were littered across nearly all of their necks and chests, their skin torn and shredded, blood still seeping from some of the openings. There were some, however, whose stomachs had been ripped open, blood and guts exposed to the daylight, heat rising into the cold winter's air and –

Stiles felt nausea rise in his throat and he nearly tripped over himself as he suddenly jerked away, stepping through the trees and away from the bodies – the _countless_ bodies – and further into the woods. He turned his head and closed his eyes, fighting back the rising pace of his heart and the constriction of his lungs that threatened to suffocate him. He took a deep breath, holding it, continuing to breathe in and out for a few more minutes, until at last he swallowed and opened his eyes. He was about to turn back, to watch as Jacob and Daniel and Scott walked among the dead, when something caught the corner of his eye. He turned back round, his eyes landing on a number of dark figures a few feet away, and suddenly every muscle in his body froze, and his breath was ripped from his lungs.

Four small bodies littered the forest floor, lying motionless within the red snow. A woman lay beside them, one arm stretched towards them, while the other was wrapped around a fifth body, a child no older than an infant. Silence lay over the woods like a thick blanket, not a cry or breath or laughter to be heard.

Before he realised what he was doing, Stiles suddenly found himself walking towards them, his gaze falling over each of them in turn, their names whispering in the back of his mind as his eyes fell across their face. _David, Lily, Jonathan, Elizabeth –_

 _Edward_.

A cry suddenly sounded off in the distance, followed by a heart-wrenching sob, but who it was, Stiles could not tell. His attention remained solely fastened on the small boy in front of him – _Edward, not Eddie_ – that lay utterly still on his side in the snow, not a twitch or breath of movement to be seen.

For the longest time he simply stared at it, his eyes unseeing, his body unmoving, feeling as still and quiet as the bodies lying before him. The child's skin was unnaturally pale, his arms laying uncomfortably against the ground and on his back, his elbows turned at the wrong angles, and – and –

No. No, this couldn't… this couldn't be true. This couldn't be real. All of this – the men, the women, the children – it just couldn't be happening. They couldn't be dead, they couldn't _all_ be dead –

Stiles reached his shaking hands forward, wrapping his arms around the child's body and drawing it close, holding it tight against his chest, because maybe, just maybe, if he – if he held it long enough, if he was able to warm him, he could – he could….

Scott let go of the woman's hand, watching as it fell limply into the snow, her grey-eyes now staring vacantly into the distance. He had found her alive just a few moments before and had ran to her as fast as he could, searching for anything, for any way to stop the bleeding, to heal her, to save her; but it became quickly evident from the wounds that covered her body, that she was not going to survive. He'd managed to ask her, to question her about what had happened, about who had done this – to which she was able to give just one quiet, shaky name in reply: _Ran Gore._

Scott had stared into her frightened eyes and held her hand, black lines drawing up his arms as he took whatever last pain from her that he could, before her head finally fell back into the snow, the last light fading from her eyes. And then she was gone.

He didn't know how long he'd sat there staring at the woman, looking for any sign of life, urging her to wake, before he finally let her hand go and stood back to his feet.

"We must leave. We cannot stay here; Ran Gore will be looking for us, and we must make our way to safety before he returns."

Scott turned round to see Darius standing behind him, the whites of the older alpha's eyes brimmed with red, the muscles in his jaw clenched tighter than Scott had ever seen, as his eyes continued to roam over the fallen pack – _his_ pack.

Scott swallowed and managed a shaky nod, before Stiles' name suddenly whispered in the back of his mind. He quickly began scanning the woods, sniffing the air until he caught his scent. He followed the trail, weaving through the trees and stepping over the endless bodies, before Stiles finally appeared in his vision.

His back was turned to him, his body kneeling in the snow, hunched over something that Scott could not see. As he drew near, he suddenly realised with a horrifying start what it was that Stiles was surrounded by. He stared at the scene before him for a few moments in silence, before he stepped forward to Stiles' side. It was only then that he realised what – who – Stiles was holding. He stood frozen for a long while, watching as shudders wracked through his friend's body, before he finally leaned over. He gently laid his hand on Stiles' shoulder, and gave him a gentle nudge. "Come on," he said quietly. "We have to go. Ran Gore will come back here, we have to leave…."

Stiles remained unmoved, save for the quick, but firm, shake of his head. "No. No, we – we can't. We have… we have to… we have to b-bury them, first. We have to give them a proper burial, we can't just – we can't just leave them here –"

Scott could hear Darius gathering Daniel and Jacob behind them and he shook Stiles harder, trying to pull him to his feet. "Stiles, come on," he said, his voice carrying a harshness he hadn't meant to have. When Stiles continued to refuse to move, his voice grew louder: "Stiles, we can't stay here! We have to leave _now_ –." Scott had started to reach for Stiles' arm, to physically pull him up if he had to, but he quickly withdrew his hand in pain as his skin began to burn. He looked down in shock, and it was then that he realised that the fabric of the jacket that covered Stiles' arms had begun to smolder and was beginning to burn, as his body began to shake.

In one last effort Scott fell to his knees beside Stiles and grabbed the sides of his face, wrenching it up and forcing the elemental to look at him. He almost wished he hadn't, for when he met Stiles' eyes he saw that they were completely blood-shot and shining with tears. "Sc-Scott," he managed to stutter out, and Scott felt his own heart clench at the broken words. "Scott, they're – they're dead, they're all dead –."

"I know," Scott said, trying to keep his voice steady against the rising grief that was threatening to overtake him. "I know. But if we don't leave now, so will we. And that means Lydia, Malia, Liam, and everyone back in Beacon Hills, they'll all die too – and we can't let that happen."

The two stared at each other for a long moment in silence, before Stiles finally swallowed, tears running down his frozen cheeks as his jaw clenched in his mouth, his brows narrowing together in anger. "I'm going to kill him," he said. He set Edward's body down into the snow, brushing his hand against his forehead one last time before rising to his feet alongside Scott. He stared down at each of the children's bodies in turn, his arms burning along with the anger in his chest as he struggled to keep his breathing under control. "I'm going to kill him, he'll pay for this. I swear it."

Without another word, both boys turned and met back up with Darius, Daniel, and Jacob; and with a final glance at the carnage behind them, they disappeared into the trees.

* * *

A/N: If you've made it this far, thank you so much for sticking with it for this long! The end WILL come, I promise!

If you have the time, please feel free to leave a review - I'd love to hear from you!

Thanks to everyone who has left reviews in the past - you guys are the reason I keep going! Thank so much :)


	15. Chapter 15

They ran through the snow as fast as they could, Darius and his pack – what was left of it – fully shifted while Scott remained human, helping pull Stiles along behind him. Stiles' arm burned Scott's hand where his fingers met his wrist, but he ignored it, his narrowed eyes never leaving the backs of the wolves in front of him. It would have been more difficult to follow them, had the snow not been strangely melting with every step they took.

Over thirty minutes passed before they finally arrived at the entrance of a cave. It was hidden behind a mass of rocks that lined the edge of the mountain, the branches of the trees spread across it, hiding it from view. Scott would have thought it were merely part of the mountain's base, if Darius and the others hadn't disappeared behind it. He let go of Stiles' arm and quickly climbed the rocks, stopping just long enough to make sure Stiles was behind him, before slipping behind the edge and into the cave.

The cave was cold and patched with ice, the light from outside reflecting off it like glass, shining dully throughout the cavern. Darius and his pack disappeared into the back, reappearing as humans moments later with cloaks wrapped around their shoulders. They looked a mixture of anger, shock, and silent fury.

Daniel turned quickly to Darius, his eyes saying everything before he even had to speak: "Darius, what – what are we going to do? The pack, everyone – they're… they're –."

Darius shook his head, tightening the cloak across his chest. "We cannot think about that now. Now we must place our focus entirely on Jacobson; we only have a short time if we wish to avenge our brothers and sisters."

Scott stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists, his muscles pulled taut with adrenaline and panic of all that had happened. "Darius, I thought you said that Gore couldn't leave the mountain – I thought you said it was his _prison_ –."

" _It was!_ " Darius snapped back. A ripple of anger ran across his face before he managed to school it back under control. He took a breath. "It was. That mountain has been his prison for over a century now; the deal he made – the pact he made in order to gain his power – it left him physically _bound_ to that mountain. The only way he could have left it, is if he now has a new source of strength. Something feeding him, something to make his strong enough to survive outside the mountain's threshold –."

Scott's heart dropped deep in his chest as realisation dawned on him. For Ran Gore to have enough power to leave the mountain, for him to have enough strength to escape for the first time in a hundred years – it meant that he now had a new source of fuel, a new source of energy. And the only energy he could gain was from souls. And the only place he could steal souls from, was….

Beacon Hills.

Scott stood in silence for a long, heavy moment, before he finally swallowed, his teeth clenching tightly in his jaw, his eyes growing dark. "So that's it then? He's free. We failed."

"How could we fail when we didn't even try?" Daniel asked angrily. "The bastard jumped us before we even had a chance! I don't know how he made it out of the mountain, much less past our border. He would've needed to have someone with him, someone to allow him into our territory –."

"Someone like Thomas?" Jacob interjected. "I _knew_ that something was up with him, that he was acting differently than everyone else –."

"Oh please," Daniel scoffed. "You knew nothing! You were oblivious to his betrayal, just like the rest of us! If you had really known something was wrong, you could have said something – you could have _told_ us. You could have stopped him from killing _everyone_ –."

"How was I supposed to know he would do this?! How was I supposed to know he was planning on killing us _all_ –."

Scott watched as the two began pushing each other, their lips pulled back in furious snarls, growls emanating from their throats as their pushes quickly turned to shoves. They began to fight until Darius finally stepped in and tried to stop them, pushing them apart with his hands, angrily telling them to cease.

As the last of the Colorado Pack fought each other, Scott's ears suddenly picked up on a sound – an echo of feet against the ground – that he hadn't been paying attention to before. He turned round, his body immediately tensing at what he saw.

Stiles was currently pacing back and forth, his eyes squeezed shut as his hands switched between gripping his arms and pulling at his hair. He was muttering to himself, nonsense words that Scott couldn't make out, but that wasn't what had grabbed Scott's attention; what had grabbed his attention was instead the fire that was erupting from Stiles' arms in short, rapid bursts, the sleeves of his coat smoldering and being quickly eaten away by the flames.

Scott immediately took a step forward, just as a gust of wind suddenly tore through the mouth of the cave. It slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. The wind died down and Scott tried stepping forwards once more, but again, like a whip being cracked, the wind flew through the cave and pushed the alpha back.

The fire continued to flicker across Stiles' skin, his breaths churning rapidly in his chest, and Scott felt his own pulse begin to rise. Without waiting another second, he shouted: "STILES!"

Stiles jerked to a stop and looked up, his wide eyes meeting Scott's. They stared at each other in silence for a brief moment, before Stiles shook his head and began pacing fervently back and forth once more. Only this time, instead of running his hands through his hair, he began pulling on the ropes around his wrists. "Damn things," he muttered, tugging a the knot. "Have to – have to get these damn things _off_ …."

Scott's own eyes widened as he jerked forward without thinking, staring at Stiles incredulously. "Stiles! Stiles, what are you doing?! Stiles, sto –."

"I have to get them off," Stiles grounded out, unaware of all the eyes that were now fastened squarely on him. He thumbed ceaselessly at the knot until it finally loosened and came undone. "If I'd had my powers, I could – I could have stopped him, I could have _stopped_ him, I could have _saved_ them, I –."

"Stiles," Scott said loudly, his voice strong and commanding. "Stop this. You couldn't have stopped him, you couldn't have saved them! He got there before we even had a chance, there was no way we could have made it in time. Stiles, you have to _stop_ –."

But Stiles didn't stop. He continued to pull at the rope on his other arm, his fingers slipping and tugging at the twine until he was all but clawing at them. "I can _do_ this, Scott!" he insisted loudly. He knew that this was something he should have done long ago; he should have taken them off the moment they'd been put on, he should have practiced and trained with everything he had to finally gain control and _master_ the elements.

The wind had now strengthened like that of a gale and was swirling around Stiles in a vortex, refusing to let Scott past. Panic began to swell in his chest as Scott watched Stiles begin to unravel the rope from his arm and he began pounding against the barrier of air, shouting above the wind as loud as he could: "STILES!"

With every length of rope that fell away from Stiles' arm, the strength of the wind increased, and his arms began to fully alight in flames. Stiles was completely unaware of what was happening, focused only on getting the damned ropes off – the ropes that were binding his powers, that were keeping him weak, that were keeping him _useless_ –

Pain suddenly began throbbing in Stiles' head, beating against the inside of his skull as though he'd been hit with a baseball bat; he cried out, dropping to his knees as he grabbed his head, leaning forward until he was pressing his forehead painfully against the cold, stone floor.

Scott watched in horror as the flames – that had until then been limited to Stiles' arms – roared up his shoulders and engulfed his chest, cording up his neck and swirling round his head. When he opened his eyes Scott could see flashes of purple sparking across them, flickering across the whites and glowing from his irises.

There was a deep sounding _crack_ , and then suddenly the cave around them began to shake and the ground beneath their feet began to shudder. Scott could hear voices shouting from behind him, but he ignored them, instead pounding his fist against the wind once more, screaming at Stiles to let him in, to let him through, _let him IN_ –

Stiles felt as though the air in his lungs were being compressed, then inflated, compressed, then inflated – faster and faster until he couldn't keep up with it, until he couldn't figure out what was happening, couldn't figure out what to do. He could feel the elements reaching out to him, trying to steady themselves, and he tried to reach out back to them – to grab hold, but he couldn't. It was as though every time he managed to catch them, they slipped through his fingers like water on silk – and then before he knew it, they were a million miles away and he couldn't find them; he couldn't even think to find them and he couldn't _think_ , he couldn't see, he couldn't feel, he couldn't _breathe_ –

 _"_ _STILES!"_

A voice tore through the torrent of fire and the roar of the wind, breaking through the chaos in Stiles' head for just a moment, before the screams of the elements returned. Stiles blinked, his body stilling as he heard the voice again: _"STILES! Stiles, you need to breathe, you need to focus! You need to focus on the elements – you need to focus on CONTROL!"_

Something about the voice was familiar, and for a moment Stiles felt a wave of calm wash over him – slowing the beat of his heart for just a second, before it was swept away in the wave of panic that crashed over his body once more. Once again he felt his lungs being squeezed and inflated over and over, and once again he heard the voice breaking through the chaos: _"FOCUS, STILES! You need to FOCUS! It's me, it's Scott, I'm here! But you gotta let me in, man – I want to help you but I can't get through the wind! You have to stop it, you have to let me through!"_

Scott.

Stiles blinked, a rush of calm suddenly washing over him, expanding his lungs and allowing him to breathe once more. He focused on Scott's words, trying to listen to them, trying to do as he was saying, and for a moment – a brief, sudden moment – it worked. He could feel the Fire and Air around him, could feel the Earth beneath his feet and above his head, like a massive blanket that was both comforting and suffocating at the same time.

He focused on the Air first, pulling it into himself and trying to contain the vortex that had ruptured within it, trying to stop it from moving, trying to bring it under control. For a moment, he thought he had it – he could feel it in his grasp, he could feel its power rushing through him, healing him, strengthening him, giving him enough power to fight – to save his friends, to save the wolves, to save the _children_ –

Like a cord being cut, Stiles felt the Air fall through his fingers and back into the chaos, taking the breath in his lungs along with it. Pain throbbed against his temples, squeezing his head until he could no longer think, until he could do nothing but scream, until he could not nothing but wait until the Air and the Earth and Fire and all of the elements came together and ripped him apart, bit by bit, consuming him until there was nothing lef –

Then suddenly, everything came to a halt.

A surge of air went through Stiles' body as he felt something touching his skin and his eyes flew open as his head snapped up, his gaze catching a figure staring back at him only a few feet away.

Scott's teeth were gritted together, the muscles in his arms straining as he fought against the gale-force wind, his arm extended and his fingers outstretched as he tried once more to reach Stiles' arm. His eyes were the pure-blood red of an alpha, the sharp ends of his canines visible in the grit of his mouth.

Stiles watched him for only a moment before the vortex that surrounded him lashed out, snapping against Scott's face and cutting a bloodied line into his cheek. A growl tore itself from the werewolf's throat and he flinched, but he quickly recovered and began pushing against the wind again, trying to still his hand long enough to grasp onto Stiles' body once more.

Stiles knew what he was doing, what he was trying to do, and for a moment he felt like giving up; he felt like telling Scott to leave, to run – to escape before it was too late, before the chaos consumed him, too. But then suddenly, without warning, the flame that had been burning on Stiles' arms flew forward, and with a deafening roar, it engulfed Scott's entire body.

On a gut-wrenching instinct that Stiles had never felt before, he immediately grabbed onto the Fire and pulled it back with every bit of strength he had, as fast as he could.

The fire sprung back from Scott's body like a blanket being ripped away, but instead of disappearing or coming to a stop, it instead flew back and crashed into the vortex of wind that was continuing to circle around them. There was a mighty roar and the flames spread across the air, until they were surrounded by a cyclone of fire.

Fear and panic surged through Stiles' body and he tried to grab hold of the Flame, the Air, the Earth – _anything_. But it was no use. It was completely useless, he had lost all control and there was no way he could get it back –

 _The ropes._

The words rang suddenly through Stiles' mind, and he immediately looked down at the ropes that now hung unravelled from both his arms. As the vortex of elements began to expand and the ground beneath them began to shake, Stiles grabbed the ends of the ropes and quickly began wrapping them back round his arms as fast as he could.

It felt as though he were pushing the opposite ends of two magnets against each other, his arm and the rope repelling each other with massive force. Stiles gritted his teeth, refusing to back down, and bit by bit he managed to cross the rope around his arm, until he was finally able to knot it at the end. As he finished pulling the knot together he felt the strength of the Air decrease rapidly, the wind slowing down and the fire beginning to shrink. He wasted no time in reaching for the rope on the other arm, and he proceeded to repeat the process until at last, with a final crack like thunder, the wind and fire finally disappeared.

For the longest time, there was only silence. Stiles remained kneeling on the ground, leaning back on his legs as he wrapped his shaking arms around his sides. He could feel the Earth beneath him through the fabric of his clothes, but it was muted, covered – nothing more than a hum of energy that he wasn't able to reach.

That he would _never_ be able to reach.

It wasn't until he felt Scott's hand on his shoulder, pushing him back, did he realise that tears had completely filled his eyes, making it all but impossible to see. He could see Scott though. He could see the worry in his body, on his face, edged in the aged-lines that were wrinkled around his eyes.

He felt Scott squeeze his shoulder and Stiles couldn't stop the lump from forming in his throat, as he quietly shook his head. "I can't do it Scott," he whispered. He took a breath, his voice trembling as he spoke. "I can't. Lydia, Malia, Liam, our parents – everyone in Beacon Hills. I can't save them. I can't stop Ran Gore from taking their souls, I can't stop him from killing them. I can't control my powers, the elements, I'll never be able to control them – no matter how hard I try, I just, I – I _can't_. It's _hopeless_ –"

The next thing he knew, Stiles was being pulled forward and engulfed in a massive hug. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around Scott in return, holding on with every last bit of strength he had.

Stiles felt the tears fall from his eyes, running down his cheeks until they began seeping into Scott's shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to Scott's firm but gentle voice speak quietly into his ear: "We're going to save them, Stiles. Lydia, Malia, Liam, Beacon Hills – we're going to save them all. And you're going to get your powers back. You'll figure it out, you always do. And remember," Scott gripped the back of Stiles' neck with his hand, holding it firm, "you're not doing it alone. You were _never_ doing it alone."

Stiles felt something loosen in his chest, and it took everything within him not to break down at that very moment. He could only grip Scott tighter, fighting back the words that wanted to tear themselves from his mouth, that wanted to scream about everything that was happening, about the people who were dying in Beacon Hills, about their friends that had been captured and possibly killed, about all the men and women that had lain massacred in that forest. About the lifeless body of a child that he should never have had to see. That he should never have had to hold.

They stayed that way a few minutes longer, until at last Stiles' grip relaxed and he slowly pulled away. He stared at the ground, leaning back as he quietly shook his head. "We should have never gone into that mountain," he stated quietly. "We should have never left Beacon Hills."

Scott paused for only a moment, before he let out a quiet sigh. "No, we probably shouldn't have," he agreed. "But we did. And now we're here, whether we like it or not." There was a moment of silence, and then he continued: "But in the end, it will be _him_ who will wish we'd never came to the mountains. It'll be _him_ who'll wish he'd never gone after the _Blessed_ , the greatest Elemental who ever lived."

Stiles found himself shaking his head, unable to stop the pained grimace that pulled quietly at his lips. "You sure have a lot of faith in someone who can't even use his powers without having them fly into chaos."

"I have a lot of faith in my friend, my brother – who I've already seen control the elements, and who I know is going to do it again."

Stiles said nothing and the two fell into silence once more, Stiles still refusing to meet Scott's gaze, but Scott could see the tension in his shoulders slightly ease and hear the beat of his heart begin to slow. After a few moments, Scott spoke: "But you know, it might actually help us out, in the end."

Stiles looked up at Scott, staring at him questioningly. Scott continued: "Now we know what it's like in there. We know the tunnels, we know the rooms, we know what to expect." His lips turned up in a small, crooked grin. "We know to bring extra batteries, and this time we're definitely bringing a _case-full_ of granola bars."

Stiles didn't know what it was, whether it was the fact that he was more mentally and emotionally exhausted than he had been in what felt like an age, or if his best friend's words were actually helping him – but he found he couldn't stop the smile from pulling at his lips as he turned away, shaking his head.

After a few moments of silence, a different voice echoed through the room: "McCall." Stiles and Scott both looked up to see Darius standing a few yards away, staring at each of them in turn, Daniel and Jacob standing behind him. Seeing their attention, he continued: "We must make our way deeper into the cave; we have food and clothing stored in the back. This place is covered in magic – we will be safe for tonight. Tomorrow we will enter Ran Gore's mountain, and we will rescue your friends."

* * *

The cave was quiet as they sat around the fire, save for the soft murmurs and whisperings that past between the werewolves, the mouth of a nearby opening letting only the barest hint of moonlight into the cave.

They had spent the past hour discussing how they would get into Gore's mountain and into the room where Darius believed Ran Gore was keeping Lydia, Malia, and Liam. Darius said he knew of a small, forgotten entrance near the base of the mountain, which would eventually lead into the room where, according to the alpha, Ran Gore was keeping the souls that he had taken from the town all those decades ago – and which was where he was most likely keeping his captives, now.

They decided they would head there first thing the next morning; it would be like walking into a lion's den, but Darius was certain that they would make it in and out before Ran Gore had a chance to find them. Scott and Stiles weren't as confident, but they knew there was no other real choice. If they wanted to save their friends before Ran Gore killed them, they could wait no longer – they had to act now.

Stiles was sitting on the floor a ways back from the fire, his arms wrapped around his sides as he huddled against the cold, cavern wall. He watched as Scott talked with Darius, the two passing information that Stiles knew he probably should be hearing, but which he found he couldn't bring himself to care about at the moment. Daniel and Jacob sat on the other side of the fire, their mouths shut and gazes lost in the flames, their minds clearly far away, as what had to be the worst day of their lives came to a close.

Stiles shifted, digging his fingers into his arms as he sunk back into the cloak that Jacob had handed him earlier. His arms hadn't stopped burning since he'd lost control of his powers; he could feel the elements rumbling beneath his skin, their power coursing through his veins, but the ropes refused to let them budge. As a result, his arms now stung constantly, hot and painful, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Eventually the fire died down and everyone found spots a few feet away to lie down and fall asleep. Scott made his way over to Stiles and sat down beside him, relaying to him everything that he and the other wolves had planned.

It would basically be a test of time – they would get in, get the girls and Liam, and get out. They would then run as far away from the mountain as they could, until they were sure that Ran Gore wasn't able to follow them. He may have become strong enough to leave the mountain, but Darius was sure he wasn't strong enough to go more than a few miles away. At least, not, yet. Once they were safe, they would get everyone out of the mountains and out of Colorado itself. Then they would re-group and contact other packs that lived in the nearby states, and they would work together to attack Ran Gore and kill him for good, returning as many souls to their bodies as they could.

Stiles could feel is jaw clenching with every word Scott spoke. It was a plan, yes – perhaps the only plan they had, perhaps the only feasible, logical plan they had – but Stiles still couldn't help but feel as though they were running away; as though they were leaving Ran Gore to grow in strength, to run through the mountains freely, taking as many souls and lives as he wanted, with on one to stop him. And Stiles was getting awful sick of running.

He could tell Scott wasn't entirely happy with the plan either, but he seemed as though he had accepted it, because there was really no other way. With Stiles' powers currently out of use, and with Lydia and Malia and Liam's lives on the line – there was no real other choice. And Stiles knew that. There was no other choice.

There was no other choice.

* * *

They woke early the next morning and quickly got ready, making their way back out into the snow-filled valley. The winter's light illuminated the overcast sky, as bleak and dull as Stiles currently felt.

Taking a breath, Stiles shook his head. The time for self-pity was over – or at least on hold. Because now he needed to think entirely of Lydia and the others, he had to focus on rescuing them. He had spent the past three years running around and saving people as a human, he could do it one more time. He had to.

It took them nearly two hours to reach the base of Ran Gore's mountain, but once they were there, Stiles felt his body thrumming with an energy and anticipation that was nearly uncontainable. It took everything in him to not yell at Darius, to tell him to hurry up, to take them to the entrance and get them inside. What had once been a hell he couldn't wait to get out of, was now a place he couldn't wait to return.

As they walked through the trees, Stiles began to notice the clouds beginning to clear, the bright light of the sun slowly breaking through. The mountainside was utterly quiet, not a noise or breath of wind to be heard. The ground did not rumble and it did not shake, and so far, it seemed as though they had made it to the mountain unnoticed.

Stiles watched as Darius reached the mountain's edge, to a spot that was covered by tree branches and brush. It looked like the rest of the mountain's base that they had been walking along for the past ten minutes, but as the alpha began pushing the brush away, Stiles began to make out the jagged edges of the mountain's entrance. A few minutes later they were looking into the depths of a cold tunnel of black.

"This leads into a private network of corridors that should eventually lead to the heart of the mountain," Darius said. "Where Ran Gore is keeping your friends."

"And how did you find out about this?" Stiles finally asked, unable to keep the slight skepticism out of his voice.

Darius met Stiles' eyes and gave a knowing smile. "From an old friend."

Stiles frowned, wanting to let the werewolf know that that wasn't a satisfactory answer in any person's book, elemental or werewolf, but he found he was too on edge to point it out. All he could think about right now was getting in, getting his friends, and getting out. It was a simple plan in theory, but Stiles knew it would be anything but.

"All right then," Scott said, stepping forward and leaning into the tunnel's mouth. He closed his eyes and took a few, deep breaths, waiting a few moments before his eyes suddenly snapped open. He looked back at Stiles, a grin quickly spreading across his face. "I can smell them."

Stiles felt his heart skip a beat, a rush of unexpected hope coursing through his chest. "Really?!" he asked.

"Yes. It's extremely faint, but it's there."

"Then let us get moving," Darius said, lighting the torches they had brought with them from the cave. "I've placed a spell over each of us, which should hide our presence for the time being. But I am no sorcerer; we will need to hurry as fast as we can." He handed a torch to each of them, and the group finally began making their way into the mountain.

The tunnels were as dark and suffocating as Stiles remembered them. The panic that had been such a constant presence the last time he was here thrummed low in his chest, as though threatening to rise at a moment's notice. But it was different this time. This time he had four other werewolves around him, and an entrance that was open. This time would be nothing like the one before. Nothing.

They had been walking for over fifteen minutes, when the voice sounded.

It started out low, a rumbling of laughter echoing through the tunnels, growing louder and louder until it was full and boisterous, causing all of them to flinch at its noise. They came to a stop for only a brief moment, before Darius quickly started walking once more, his strides growing faster and faster until they were at all but a run. The urgency in their steps was palpable, and Stiles knew that whatever spell Darius had placed around them was quickly beginning to fade.

 _"_ _Ah, my friends,"_ Ran Gore finally said, his voice echoing all around them. _"How good of you to come. Though I must admit, I didn't think I'd have to wait this long to see you."_

Darius turned sharply to the left, leading them down another corridor, their torches flickering in the dark as they ran.

 _"_ _I see you've brought some friends with you. Darius, I must say – it's been such an awful long time. Why haven't you come to visit me before? I would have loved to have had a visit from one of my oldest friends. Tell me, how is that lovely creature you call a wife doing? And your children? Shouldn't you be with them, defending them against the dark and terrible forces of this big, bad world? Oh wait,"_ Gore laughed, _"that's right. You can't."_

Darius' pace increased and he veered into another tunnel, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls with every step.

Gore's voice tutted in the darkness. _"You know, you really should have taken better care of your pack, have kept a closer eye on your wolves. You never know when one of them will suddenly choose to betray you, or… stab you in the back."_

The scent of another wolf suddenly hit Scott with full force and he immediately came to a screeching halt. He spun round in search of the new enemy, when suddenly he heard Darius roar, and he turned back to see Thomas, his claws digging deep into the back of Darius' shoulder.

In an instant, Daniel and Jacob were on him, their eyes gold and claws extended as they attacked and tore into the traitor with all they had. Scott felt his feature shift and his own claws lengthen, readying to join in the throng, but instinct told him to keep out of another pack's fight as long as he could.

They watched as the last of the Colorado Pack attacked the traitor with a vigor and intensity that neither Scott nor Stiles had ever seen, snarling and growling as they ripped their claws into his skin; a werewolf on its own was a formidable foe – but when that werewolf was against three others of its own kind, it stood little chance of survival.

Stiles fought back the nausea that rose in his throat as he watched Thomas get torn to shreds – literally. He thought he would feel something akin to regret at the wolf's death, perhaps he'd been deceived into working for Ran Gore, or – what was more likely – tricked, but Stiles found that all he could feel was a dull detachment, a quiet anger simmering beneath his skin.

 _"_ _Oh my, such a pity,"_ Gore said, as what remained of Thomas' body was thrown violently to the side, crashing into the stone wall with a smack. _"You know, he really was a good little helper. He just wandered a little too close to my home one day, and in the height of summer, one does become quite thirsty. If only he had listened to his alpha and hadn't drank from the river. He really was rather easy to take, after that. Power really is the greatest seductress of all, is it not?"_

Darius spat out a clot of blood onto the floor, his eyes red and flashing in silent fury. "You will pay for this, Jacobson."

 _"_ _Will I? And how do you think you will defeat me? With four little wolves and a gimp Elemental? I am growing stronger with every passing hour, old friend. As every day ends, more souls leave their bodies and make their way to me. They've already given me enough strength to step foot outside my mountain; soon I will have enough to leave this accursed prison for good – and then you will see what terror truly is. You thought watching those humans march to their deaths was frightening; you only have to wait and see what I'll do once I'm truly free."_

They'd started walking again and Stiles looked to Scott, trying to tell if he still had their friends' scents. By the way his jaw was set and his eyes were narrowed in focus, he could only assume he did.

 _"_ _Oh my dear ones,"_ Gore fussed, his voice lilting. _"Do you really think you're going to save them? You can't, you know. The dead always remain dead."_

"He's lying," Scott quickly told Stiles, never taking his eyes off Darius' back. "I can still smell them."

 _"_ _Can you?"_ Gore's voice asked lightly. _"Or do you just smell their bodies, their beautiful bodies, slowly decaying into the ground? I suppose I'll have to start a new pit, what with the old one being full. Your friends can be first to start my new collection."_

A growl emanated low from Scott's throat and Stiles felt the ropes tighten as his arms began to burn, his finger clenching into fists.

 _"_ _Now, now, don't fret. You'll be joining them quite soon, I assure you. Along with some other dear loved ones – your schoolmates, your teachers… perhaps your mother and father?"_

John's voice suddenly rang through the tunnels, loud and clear: _"Stiles! Stiles, where are you?! Where are you, Stiles?!"_

Stiles' heart dropped into his stomach and his breath caught in his throat, as panic shot through his veins. "DAD!"

"It's not them, Stiles," Scott said, but his voice sounded unsure. "It's not them."

Melissa's voice came next, trying to sound strong, but shaking with every word: _"Scott? Honey? Where – where are you? Scott?"_

Scott halted for a brief moment, swallowing as his grip tightened around the torch in his hand, before he started moving once more. Stiles fought back against the sudden shock and fear, and he quickly fell in line behind Scott.

All along the passageway as they walked, John and Melissa's voices followed them with every step: _"Scott, honey, please – please, you have to find us, you have to save us. We don't know where we are, we don't know how to get out,_ please _–."_

 _"_ _Stiles, son – I know it'll be tough, but please – please, you have to get us. Don't – don't let me go, not yet. You have to save me, you have to do whatever it takes. Son, please –."_

 _"_ _Scott, my dear, please – I-I don't… I-I'm scared, Scott. I'm alone and it's dark and I'm scared. Please, please save me."_

Stiles could see Scott's jaw clench and the fangs of his teeth glisten against the flames, his claws elongating as his eyes began to grow red with fury. But he said nothing, none of them did, and they continued to make their way deeper and deeper into the mine. They knew that it wasn't them, that it couldn't be them. Whether their souls had really been taken or not, Stiles didn't know, but what they were saying now – the voices that were pleading for them to save them – it was all Ran Gore. They both knew that no matter what situation they were in, neither Melissa nor John would ever ask them to save them at the price of their own safety. But that didn't stop the voices from piercing deep into Stiles' heart with every word they spoke.

 _"_ _Scott, don't let me go, please – don't let me go."_

 _"_ _Stiles, please, don't leave me. I'm not ready to join your mother, not yet. You're not ready to be a real orphan."_

 _"_ _Scott, just… just give up. If you aren't going to at least try and save me, then – then please. At least stop fighting. It'll be quicker, faster this way, I know it –."_

 _"_ _You're powerless, Stiles – you won't be able to make it. You'll just pull everybody back, you'll just be a hindrance to them – just like you were before. Just like you've always been."_

 _"_ _Scott, just stop. You've already lost your pack, and you couldn't help Darius save his – really, in the end, what use are you?"_

 _"_ _Stiles –."_

 _"_ _Scott –."_

 _"_ _Stiles –."_

 _"_ _Scott –."_

 _"_ _Stiles!"_

 _"_ _Scott!"_

 _"_ _STILES!"_

 _"_ _SCOTT!"_

The voices finally ended, followed quickly by Ran Gore's raucous laughter. After a few moments of silence, he spoke: _"You'll never save them. I have control of this mountain, I have control over everything within it. Don't you wonder why you've been walking for over half an hour now, and you are still no closer to your friends than you were before? Don't you wonder why the scent hasn't changed from the moment you started? Not one bit?"_ He laughed again, his voice echoing through the halls and surrounding them, every where and no where. _"So long as I am in this mountain, you will never find them."_

Stiles glanced towards Scott, wondering if what he'd said was true, but before he could ask, Darius, who had been leading them, suddenly came to a stop.

The alpha stayed where was for a long moment, his body not moving an inch, before suddenly he turned around and faced them. Stepping forward, Darius handed his torch to Scott, who instinctively grabbed it in his other hand. "Here," he said quietly, his eyes rising to meet the True Alpha's. "You must follow the scent until you find them. Trust your nose, trust your instincts. You will be a magnificent alpha one day, McCall – I have seen it. I dare say, you already are."

Scott frowned in confusion, but Darius said nothing more, turning his attention instead onto Stiles. " _Blessed_. I have not known you long, but I have seen much of what it is you will one day do. And I can tell you, that it has truly been an honour to have known you personally – however short our acquaintance was."

"Darius," Scott started, but Darius cut him off.

"No, True Alpha – this is what needs to be done. I may not have been able to save my pack from Ran Gore, but I will do everything in my power to save yours."

Moving past them, Darius stepped towards Daniel and Jacob, both of whom were looking at him with a mixture of anger, shock, and deep sorrow.

Stiles turned away, wanting to give the remnants of the Darius pack at least some sense of privacy as they said their goodbyes. He could hear Jacob whispering furiously to Darius, clearly upset, trying to convince him to stay, but Darius would not be moved. Daniel, clearly the elder of the two, remained quiet and still, though Stiles was certain he was as angry about it as Jacob.

After a few minutes Darius moved back to Scott and Stiles, a small, resigned smile on his lips. "Daniel will lead you the rest of the way. He has one of the best noses in our pack. He's been in this mountain before; he will not lead you astray."

Scott started to give Darius' torch back to him, but the alpha just shook his head, motioning it away. He continued: "Once you are out of the mountain, make your way to the town. Ran Gore will not be so powerful yet as to be able to reach it. From there, you should find the fastest way out of the mountains as you can. There is a pack near the southern border, who I know will not turn you away. Their numbers are many; they can help you defeat Ran Gore."

"Darius," Scott began, his muscles strained and eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, about your pack. I'm sorry we brought this on you. I – I never meant for this to happen –."

"Do not think yourself so great as to believe that Ran Gore was your doing, Scott McCall," Darius interrupted softly. His eyes turned to Stiles. "And neither is it yours. Ran Gore has been a threat for well over a century, and has long been preparing his escape. This is simply the time in which he chose to do it."

Turning back, Darius smiled one last time with a single nod, before turning round. "Good luck to you, True Alpha, _Blessed_. I trust you will be able to find your way back out?" And with that, Darius disappeared into the darkness.

They all stood in silence for a long moment, staring at the spot where the alpha had once stood, until Daniel suddenly shoved his way forward to the head of the group. "Come on," he said gruffly, though the grief was evident in his voice. "Darius will give us some time, but it won't be long. Let's not waste it."

The four began heading through the tunnels once more, following Daniel's lead as he led them through a myriad of twists and turns through what felt like endless caverns of rock and stone. They continued for another twenty minutes non-stop, until suddenly Stiles noticed Scott twitch beside him, and he looked over to see Scott's eyes widen, a small smile pulling at his lips. Stiles' own heart began to speed up and when they turned round the next corner, his knees nearly buckled at what he saw.

They had walked into a small room, its rounded walls glistening with water that ran down from the ceiling above them. Torches alight with flickering flames lined the ends of the walls, casting the room in a dark, orange glow. But it wasn't the room that had caused Stiles' breath to catch in his throat and fear to surge through his veins – it was what was lined along the walls, hanging from chains by their wrists, strung up like lifeless corpses: Lydia, Malia, and Liam.

Their friends.

They were hung up alongside one another, Lydia on the far left, Malia in the middle, and Liam on the right. Their skin was starkly pale, tinged with an unnatural grey where the skin was pulled taut. Their heads lolled to the front and the sides, not a single movement to be seen. For all that Stiles could tell, they were dead.

Scott was the first to break from their stupor and move forward. He ran towards them, reaching Malia first. He stretched his hand out tentatively at first, pressing his fingers beneath her neck. He kept them there for a long moment, shifting them around, pressing them harder and harder against her throat. He eventually dropped the torch to the floor, using his other hand to search for a pulse on the other side of her neck. But still, he found nothing.

Stiles finally stumbled forward, refusing to accept what he was seeing. He made his way to Lydia and pressed shaking fingers to the artery beneath her neck. His eyes fell across her face as he waited for her pulse, staring at her closed eyes, her hair matted and messed. Bruises were marked across her face and Stiles swallowed, guilt beginning to press against his chest, suffocating him. He waited a few minutes longer, his eyes growing hot as he searched and searched for a pulse, a beat, a flutter – anything that would tell him that she was still alive. His hands fell to her shoulders and he began shaking her, wanting to yell, scream – to tell her to wake up, please, _please_ just _wake up_ –

"They won't wake."

Stiles started, his arms falling to his side as he immediately spun around at the sound of the foreign voice. His eyes widened at what he saw.

A man stood in the corner, tall with his shoulders back, staring at them with a strong, steady gaze. He was older, perhaps in his fifties, and his clothes appeared as though they were something Stiles' grandfather would have worn once, long ago.

His image flickered and Stiles blinked, suddenly realising that the man was shimmering – the edges around his body glowing slightly in white. If Stiles looked hard enough, he could swear he could see the rocks that lay behind him – _through_ his body.

"Who are you?" Scott growled, clearly as startled by the man's appearance as Stiles.

The man offered Scott a small, meek smile, before responding. "My name is David Asterleigh. And I have come to help you."

As Stiles continued to take in the man's appearance, he began to frown, as an uncanny sense of familiarity crept over him; it were as though he'd somehow seen this man before, somewhere, some _time_ ….

"Where the hell did you come from?" Scott asked, his eyes flickering red.

"Where you are standing now is the place where Tristan Jacobson keeps the souls of his victims. Many years ago Jacobson betrayed my town, and he took the souls of all its inhabitants. Over the years he has absorbed those souls into his own, feeding and keeping him alive for all this time. I am one of the last souls from that place to be absorbed and soon, Jacobson will take me, too."

Something was nudging Stiles in the back of his mind, persistent, urging him to think harder, that there was something about this man that he already knew, something that was on the tip of his tongue –

 _Mr. David Asterleigh, a former employee of Mr. Jacobson, claims that Mr. Jacobson is too greedy, and that no good will come of the mine. "Tristan Jacobson may provide men with jobs, but he will run them into the ground to get what he wants. Jacobson is a greedy and power-hungry man. Having had the displeasure to work for him a few years ago, I can safely say that I will never work for him again, no matter what price he pays…._

Asterleigh. It was – of course! David Asterleigh was the man from the newspaper article – the one he'd found in the library when searching for information on the town, the one about the employee who vowed he'd never work for Ran Gore again, and –

Then, like lightning, another image flashed through Stiles' mind and everything suddenly came together: the people, walking to their deaths through the town roads; one man in particular, who Gore had walked up to, purposely kicking his legs out from under him and sending him to the ground in a painful heap. Yelling at him, kicking him, spitting on the back of his head – _"You don't seem so high and mighty now, do you, Asterleigh?_ _You should never have said what you did all those years ago; now you will pay for it – and you will pay dearly. If I have to live alone in that mountain, then you will too. Yours will be the last soul I take, and I will make your end far more painful than any other."_

With a sinking horror, Stiles realised that Ran Gore had indeed been true to his word.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has left reviews! You guys have been such an encouragement to me and you're the reason I've been able to get this far with this fic. I hope you'll enjoy the rest! We're nearing the end :)


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles stared at David as Scott opened his mouth to speak again, but Daniel spoke before he had a chance: "I remember you," he said slowly, as though uncertain if he really did know the man. "You were a friend of Jacobson's, friends from childhood. Before he… before he met –."

"Before he met that sorcerer?" David finished for him. "Yes. Yes, we were friends. He used to be a good man, believe it or not. But like many good men, he had a love of power – he had a love of control; and so when the opportunity arose for him to become powerful, to become all but immortal… he didn't take much persuasion to accept."

"How did he get his power?" Scott finally asked. "How did he really get stuck in this mountain?" His body was still painfully tense, still on guard, but for the moment he was listening.

David's eyes turned to Scott, staying on him for the longest time, until finally he spoke: "There's really not much to say, in the end. Tristan was once a normal man, a normal human, and then one day he was approached by an old man – we both were. He was old and weathered, and I swear – he had the foulest, darkest scowl I've ever seen a person wear.

"He seemed to come out of nowhere, walking with a hooked, wooden cane. It was odd – our town was still so small then, there was no shop that sold such intricate canes. He had to be a foreigner, but there hadn't been a train for weeks – and we hadn't ever seen him before then, and…." David trailed off, his eyes staring off into the distance, before he suddenly seemed to remember he had an audience, and he quickly turned back and continued: "He said he wanted to offer us a gift. We were young men then, only in our early twenties, but we thought we were wise; we thought we knew better." He swallowed. "We didn't.

"He showed us the magic he could use, all of the amazing and incredible things he could do with it – turning stone into glass, controlling the movements of animals and nature with just the flick of a finger. He showed us the past, he showed us the future – we were in awe; we were enthralled. Then he said that he could give a similar gift to us, a power that would be all our own."

David's voice fell away once more, and Stiles felt the heat begin to grow on his arms.

Taking another breath, David went on: "I had a wife and child at that time; the power that the man spoke of did not interest me. I had too much to lose. But Tristan, well he… he could not let the prospect of power and immortality go. So a few days later he left and accepted the man's offer. I told him not to go, to stay, that every gift has its price – but he did not listen.

"When Tristan returned, he was a changed man. I tried to have him tell me what had happened, but all he said was that he had to create an enterprise, he had to build something that would be of great success, and only then would the man give him his gift. He shut himself away, thinking up all of these ridiculous, nonsensical ideas for businesses and structures that could be seen as something great, as something marvelous, something that would draw people from all around the world to our town – to him. I had been working for him at the time in a small blacksmith's shop, but after that our relationship deteriorated, and it became clear that the friendship we'd had was now over.

"After that, he began setting about for the construction of the mine. He worked for over a decade on that thing, luring all of the able-bodied men of the town and from across the state into its depths, never knowing that what they were creating would eventually become their tomb. I knew what he was doing then – I knew what the old man had wanted in exchange for giving Tristan his powers – he wanted souls. What Tristan didn't know, was that his own would be the very first on his list."

There was a moment's silence, then Scott spoke: "Didn't you try to tell him?" he asked, frowning at the other man. "If you knew what would happen to him, didn't you try to stop him from doing it?"

"I did," David replied honestly. "But he wouldn't listen. Instead, he showed me the blueprints for the mountain's passages; he showed me where the reservoir room would be, where his Grand Room would be, where the… where the _pit_ would be." David swallowed and took a breath. "But he also showed me where the entrances would be – including the one that leads to this room, the room where he has kept all his souls ever since. He was trying to repair our friendship, he thought he had an opportunity to get me on his side, to get me to help him kill everyone in our town. When I told him he was mad, that I would do everything I could to stop him, well… let's just say he was less than pleased. I tried. I tried so hard to convince him to stop, but in the end… there was nothing I could do."

"So what," Stiles suddenly asked, his voice sharp. "You just let him do it, then? You just gave up, and let him kill everyone in your town? You let him live in this godforsaken mountain, so that he'd be able to do it all over again? You knew what he was doing, you could have done something, you could have _stopped_ him, stopped all of this –."

"Do not take me for a fool, _Blessed_ ," David spat back, anger lining deep in his voice. "I did all that I could do. Unlike you and your friends, I was only human. But…" David took a breath, steadying himself, "I knew there were those that could aid us." He turned to Jacob and Daniel, his lips pressing in a thin, knowing line. "I had become aware that we were not the only ones living in the mountains. I knew that there were those who could potentially help, who might have enough strength to stop Tristan from what he was planning to do. So I set out to contact them. And in doing so, I put in danger the most precious, innocent thing I had – my beautiful, darling daughter _Alayna_ …."

It felt as though he had been hit by a ton of bricks, a force coming out of nowhere and slamming into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Stiles felt his eyes go wide and his jaw go slack, as realisation dawned like a burning sun.

Alayna. Alayna was David's daughter. She had been part of this town. She had been here, in these mountains, living here before Tristan – before Ran Gore – before he took everyone and locked them in a pit, taking their souls and letting them die and _rot_ –

A memory suddenly flashed through Stiles' mind, Alayna's words resounding through his head as he recalled the moment she had finally told him who she was: _"I haven't told you much of anything about your powers, the prophecy, or the_ Blessed _. I haven't told you who I am or given any reason as to why you should trust me. I've placed far too much on your shoulders at once than what you ever deserved. And for that I am sorry. My name is Alayna Asterleigh..."_

 _Asterleigh_. Alayna Asterleigh. He should've known, he should've remembered – ever since he had found the articles all those weeks ago, he should have realised who she really was –

"….she knew the werewolves of the mountains," David continued, and Stiles' attention quickly came back to what the man was saying: "She had known them since she was a child, so I sent her to them; I had her carry all of the information I had on Tristan, the old man, and their plan – hoping that somehow, someway, they would be able to help us." He looked back to Daniel and Jacob, and smiled. "And you did. Darius was a kind leader, and agreed to help in whatever way he could. For years Alayna fed him information, telling him what Tristan was doing, how far along the mine currently was. It went on like this without trouble until, that is, the mine began to finish."

David's eyes shifted, staring off into the past, as he saw that which had happened over a century before play in front of his eyes. "I hadn't realised that Tristan had found out, that he had learned what Alayna and I were doing with the wolves. When the mine was suddenly and unexpectedly announced as completed, that's when I realised that our time was near. Tristan disappeared into the wilderness, leading everyone to believe that he had died by accident. But I knew better; I knew what he had gone to do – the man that he had gone to meet. Weeks passed, and for a moment, I thought maybe he really _had_ died – that whatever deal he'd made, had somehow taken his life in the process. But I was wrong.

"He came back a few weeks later, looking for all the world as though he was simply valiant, lucky survivor. He was hailed a hero, a returning conqueror, a king… but I knew that our time was now finished. I tried to warn people, to tell them to leave – but of course, not one of them believed me….

"I knew he would come after us. I knew he would come after my daughter, that he knew what she had done, and he would make sure she would suffer especially. So I found a way to create a world in which Alayna could live, in which she could be hidden away, until Ran Gore was well and truly gone."

Seeing their frowns, David quickly added with a small smile, "Tristan wasn't the only one with access to magic. But in order to create this world, I needed to bind it to something in ours. I had no other choice, there were no other options – I had to bind it to myself. I bound it to my soul. I knew Tristan was petulant, that he would most likely save those he hated the most for last, before he finally killed them for good, so I knew Alayna had at least some time before the end. But now the end has truly come – and I don't even know if she's still alive to see it, or… or if…."

"Alayna's alive," Scott interrupted, and Stiles looked up to see his friend staring intently back at the older man, a familiar look of both empathy and anger etched across his face. "She's still there, in that… in that world. I've seen it. But the last time we were there, she… the world, it – it was breaking apart. It was dying." _She_ was dying, though Scott was too kind to say the words aloud.

The look on David's face was one of complete shock, followed by a joy that Stiles was sure he probably hadn't felt since this whole horror began. There were a few moments of stunned silence, before he said, "She… she's alive? She's still there?"

"Yes, she's still there, but –."

"But she's dying," David finished for him, the joy on his face quickly falling away into stoic resignation. "Yes. Yes, of course she is. As I die, the world I built for her dies. And as the world dies, so does she."

Pushing his shoulders with an air of authority, David looked each of them in the eye before he spoke: "I told you that I have come to help you, and I have. In this room there is a stone. It is the place where Ran Gore has stored his souls for all these many years, and it is the place where your friends' souls now rest. Gore wears a shard of this stone around his neck, which feeds into his body and allows the souls to be absorbed into his own. I am the last of those souls from our town to be kept here.

"In his efforts to escape the mountain, the souls from your town of Beacon Hills are going straight to his necklace, ready to be used the moment he needs them. From what I can tell, he is still relying on the souls from a century ago in a final push to escape the mountain. But once they are gone, your people will be next."

"Wait," Stiles interjected, the rush of information rapidly trying to sort itself in his mind, as David's words suddenly caught up to him. "So they're – they're not… dead? They're still alive? Their souls are still here, they're just in –."

"Within the stone, yes. They will need to be removed and returned to their bodies, if you wish them to survive. Their bodies will not last long without them."

"Well where is it then?!" Scott demanded. "Where's the stone – !"

"It's hidden," David replied calmly. "I will use what power I have left to bring it into light, but in doing so I will no longer be able to speak to you. You will have to act fast; Ran Gore will not be held off for long."

For a moment David began to shimmer, and Stiles quickly jerked forward. "Wait," he said, and David's eyes turned back to him. "You – you didn't finish. How did Ran Gore get bound to the mountain? Why can't he leave?"

David took a breath. "It was really quite simple, in the end. Tristan should have known that he wouldn't simply be given power and immortality for free. When he went into the mountains and made the deal with the old man, Tristan ended up losing his soul and the old man bound it to the mountain itself – it _became_ the mountain itself. That is why he needs other human souls to keep alive, and that is why he is unable to ever leave the mountain. Tristan obtained his power and his immortality, but he lost himself in the process.

"And now here he is, a man half out of his mind with greed and lust, whose obsession for the past hundred years has been to escape this mountain and steal as many souls as he can. The souls he had already stored began to dry up, and when he heard that the _Blessed_ had been woken, well…."

Stiles swallowed, feeling the eyes of the werewolves turn to him. He glanced up and met Scott's gaze; he was expecting judgement, he was expecting pity, he was expecting blame – but instead, he met dark-brown eyes filled with a strong, stalwart resolve: _none of this is your fault. We're going to make it._

They continued to stare at each other for a long moment, passing words unspoken, before Scott finally turned back to David. "Alayna said that in order to kill Ran Gore, we'll need to destroy the emerald that he wears around his neck."

A small smile tugged at David's lips, and he nodded his head. "Yes. Destroying the necklace will break the connection between the souls and his body. However, in order for him to truly be destroyed, the emerald bowl that holds the souls here in the mountain will need to be emptied of its contents first, and then it will need to be shattered – broken into pieces. Only then will Gore truly have no way left to take anymore souls."

"All right," Scott said, nodding to himself. "Okay. Okay, we can do that. We'll get everyone's souls back to their bodies and then we'll break the stone, and then we'll get out of here and down into the town –."

"Wait," Stiles interrupted, frowning as he looked at the older man. "You said the emerald needs to be emptied, but where – where does that leave you? You don't have a body…." Stiles' words fell away as he met David's eyes, who was meeting his gaze with a quiet resignation. Stiles immediately began shaking his head, knowing that what he was telling them to do would not only result in David's death, but Alayna's, as well. "No. No, there has to be another way. Alayna's world may be crumbling – you may be dying, but we can stop it! We can find another way, we can – we can find a way to save you _both_ –."

"No, _Blessed_ ," David said softly, shaking his head. "It is too late. My body is lying buried in a pit beneath countless others, having turned to dust long ago. There is no place for me in this world now."

Stiles could feel the denial rising in his chest, the refusal to believe that what David was saying was true, that his promise to Alayna to save her was now impossible to keep. He had told her, he had assured her – he had _promised_ her that he would find a way, that he prove her wrong and _save_ her. She had been scared, he had seen it; she had been terrified of the world – both her prison and salvation – coming down around her, breaking apart, a sign of not only her own coming death, but her father's, as well. There had to be a way, there just _had_ to –

A deep rumbling sounded from within the mountain and everyone stilled. A moment later the ground beneath their feet and above their heads began to shudder, then shake, before slowly fading away into silence. David's eyes met theirs, and they knew that it was time.

"When I am gone, the stone will appear. You must save your friends, then destroy the stone. In pieces, it cannot hold any more souls. After that, you must get his necklace and break it. But I warn you – Ran Gore is powerful. He has not spent all this time in here doing nothing."

There was another rumble, shorter this time, and David's form shimmered as he gave each of them a final smile, his gaze hovering a few seconds longer on Stiles. "Good luck to you; I deeply hope that the fate of you and your town will be far different than mine." David's image flickered once, then twice, and then he was gone.

They stood in complete silence for a moment, not one of them saying a word, before Jacob finally spoke up: "Well, where is it?" he asked, looking round frantically. "He said the stone – the emerald, or whatever – that it would show up when he was gone. We have to find it, we have to get it now and destroy it, and –."

Scott quickly intervened, his voice the low and commanding tone of an alpha: "No one's destroying _anything_ until the souls of my friends are back in their bodies."

"You heard what David said, McCall – we have to get moving and we have to get moving _now_. Darius is giving his fucking _life_ to give us this time to kill Ran Gore for good! If we don't hurry now, then we'll…."

Something nudged against the back of Stiles' mind, and the werewolves' voices fell away in silence. He turned, his brows furrowing together in confusion as he tried to figure out what it was. It felt as though there were a presence, as though there was something were pulling at him, calling to him, drawing him in….

Stiles frowned, looking to the left where a passage – had that been there before? – led into the mountain and disappeared into the darkness. He turned and started walking down the tunnel, moving quietly across the stone floor with every step.

A green light shone out of room against the passage's grey, stone walls, and Stiles made his way towards it until he turned to the left, and the source of the light finally met his eyes.

A large round, jagged emerald in the form of a basin sat on a column in the middle of the room, light shining brightly from within it, casting shapes of glowing green across the ceiling to the floor. It drew Stiles with a pull he'd never felt before and he slowly stepped towards it, until he finally came to a stop in front of it.

He peered down into the bowl, cocking his head to the side as his eyes fell on the clear, liquid wisps that were moving and circling gently inside. They looked like nothing he had ever seen before, and Stiles stared at them in bemusement, watching as the ethereal wisps moved amongst each other; some were bright, some were dark, but each was the exact same size, neither one larger nor smaller than the other. With a whisper, the name spoke in Stiles' mind:

 _Souls_.

These were souls. But not just any souls, these were the souls of his friends – Lydia, Malia, and Liam… and David. These were what separated each of them from their bodies, this was the precipice that held each of them between life and death.

The emerald stone that the basin was made from shone bright, and Stiles' eyes fell back to it once more, unable to look away. Even with his powers subdued, he could still sense its strength – he could still sense its _power_. Without a second thought, Stiles raised his hands and touched the emerald's sides.

Power rushed through his veins like fire rushing through dried leaves, roaring through his body and filling him with a strength he had never felt before. He sucked in a breath, not realising that he had closed his eyes, and he felt his fingers tighten against the emerald's hard, cold surface.

He felt adrift; he felt as though he had somehow left the indefensible confines of his body and was now free – free to move, free to roam – free to see everything as it was supposed to be seen. He was high above, looking down at the world, looking down on his town, his family, his friends. He could see all that had been, and all that would ever be. He could see the man in the mountain ripping the souls from the humans he'd captured, setting their souls in a magic stone and throwing their bodies to the side like ragdolls. He could see the future – him, the True Alpha, the banshee, the coyote. He could all that they would fight, all that they would fail, all that they would conquer. He could see the horizon to the west and the Darkness that was coming upon it, like a wave about to crash on the shore –

"Stiles, you found it!"

Stiles opened his eyes, his gaze falling to the emerald stone once more. He could sense Daniel coming up behind him, followed closely by Scott and Jacob. He could feel their emotions moving on the air; Daniel's hesitation, Jacob's anger marred with grief, the True Alpha's hope and relief at having found what they were looking for. Though strong, their emotions were contained – a welcome reprieve from the chaos that Stiles' powers had been feeling for what felt like an age.

"Okay, so how do we do this?" Jacob asked, his voice filled with uncertainty and impatience. "Do we just like, take the bowl and throw it at them? Do we make them touch it? How does – how does this work?"

"We're not going to throw it, Jacob," Daniel reprimanded, though Stiles could tell he was as much at a loss of what to do as his pack-mate. "If it breaks, then they'll all die."

Another surge of power ran from the emerald and into Stiles' body, and he couldn't help but breathe as he felt its energy coursing through his veins. He could feel Jacob step near him, and a moment later the werewolf spoke: "There's nothing in here; so they have to be in the stone itself."

At that, Stiles opened his eyes, a frown pulling at his lips as he looked back down into the basin. His eyes met the same ethereal, white wisps that he were there before, their distinct, separate energies as strong as before. As no one refuted Jacob's claim, Stiles vaguely realised that they must not be able to see them.

There was more movement, more voices, but Stiles paid them no heed. All that mattered was the emerald, its strength, and the power that it was giving him. A power that he had been missing for far, far too long…

"Stiles, you'll need to move out of the way. We'll have to carry it over to their – their bodies. Daniel and I will carry it, and then we'll figure out how to get their souls out of it, and… and back to where they're supposed to be."

Stiles stared thoughtfully at the emerald, his fingertips lightly caressing along its sides. "No," he said after a moment. "I'll carry it"

He heard Scott let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, could sense his emotions tinging with annoyance and exasperation. "Stiles, it'll be way too heavy for you. Here, just let me take –."

Stiles felt a hand push against his arm, and without warning he looked up and snapped, " _Get back_ , _Alpha._ "

The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted, and Stiles could feel their emotions turn to shock and confusion, all of them suddenly tense and on guard – though for what reason, Stiles couldn't really say. The True Alpha was looking back at him in stunned silence, an edge of fear lining around his eyes as he stared back into Stiles'.

Scott felt his body grow numb as Stiles' eyes stared back into his own – Stiles' angry, storming, _purple_ eyes.

As with both times Scott had seen them before, the purple was mixed with a dark green and a myriad of other, less visible colours, which filled Stiles' entire eyes from the pupil to across the whites. His eyes were angry, and Scott could tell that the anger was a warning – a threat of what was to come if he didn't back down.

The change was so unexpected that for a moment, all Scott could feel was panic. His eyes immediately fell to Stiles' arms, expecting to see the ropes unbound and laying on the floor, but instead he found his arms were untouched – the ropes still woven along his forearm and up to his shoulders as they had been before.

Looking back up, Scott met Stiles' eyes, swallowing as he steeled himself together. "Stiles," he said quietly, "what's… what's going on? Are you – are you okay, or…."

"I'm fine, Scott," Stiles said distractedly, his eyes drifting back to the emerald bowl. He could feel their gaze on him, their concern, their uncertainty; he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should be bothered by it, but he found at the moment that he simply couldn't care less.

There was a rumble that echoed throughout the tunnels, and Stiles felt Scott shift beside him. "Stiles, we… we have to get going. We need to get Lydia, Malia, and Liam's souls back to their bodies – their bodies are dying without them, remember?"

"Don't worry, Scott," Stiles said calmly, continuing to trace his fingers along the emerald's jagged edge. "We'll get there. Liam, the girls, Ran Gore – we'll all get there in the end."

Stiles closed his eyes, breathing in the emerald's power once more. "God, Scott – can't you feel it? Can't you _sense_ it?! It's power, it's strength – I can see _everything_. I can see the past, I can see the future – I can see _us_. I can see what we're going to do, what we're going to _become_ …."

Scott knew Stiles wasn't possessed, not like he had been with the nogitsune. Back then, he could smell the change in person; he could smell the scent of rotting flesh and decay that had defined the nogitsune so distinctly, how it had masked the scent of his friend beneath it, showing clearly that there was more than one being in Stiles' body. This time, however, he could only smell Stiles – what was happening now was all _him_. And yet, somehow, it was not.

"Come now, _True Alpha_ ," Stiles said softly, his eyes never leaving the stone, "don't be so concerned. You will miss much, in this life, if you are constantly in a state of worry and fear."

Suddenly, Scott knew why Stiles' words and tone of voice seemed so familiar. It was the same voice that he had spoken with when they were fighting each other in the forest, the same name that Stiles would usually never call him in casual conversation – or any conversation, for that matter. Scott hadn't known then what it was then, and he couldn't say he knew now – but he did know that somehow, in some way, it had to do with the _Blessed_.

The mountain rumbled again and Scott's jaw clenched tightly together. Well, whatever was happening, it needed to stop – _now_. Before Stiles could protest, Scott reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding in an iron-firm grip, ready to fight back against whatever response Stiles tried to give him.

Stiles' eyes snapped over to Scott once again, still as dark an amethyst as they were before, the lines etching between his brows in a glare. The two held each other's gaze for a long moment, both refusing to back down, before Scott finally opened his mouth: "Stiles, I know what you're feeling right now. I know you're feeling strong, you're feeling powerful – as though you could do anything and everything you could ever want to do. It's _intoxicating_. But right now, we're in trouble. Lydia, Malia, Liam – they need our help. And if you don't let us move this stone now, they and everyone in Beacon Hills – my mother, your _father_ – they're all going to die. So I need you to come back, and I need you to help us. _Please_."

They stared at each other a moment longer, a heavy silence falling over the room, until slowly, the lines between Stiles' eyes began to ease, and the foreign look he had held on his face began to disappear. The fast-paced heartbeat that Scott had been listening to for the past ten minutes began to slow and he watched as Stiles swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"R-right," he said quietly. He turned back to the emerald and slowly, bit by bit, he released his hold, his hands fell down to his sides.

Relief fell across Scott's shoulders and he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Whatever had just happened clearly had something to do with Stiles' powers, and he had a feeling that they might be seeing it again in the future; but for now at least –

The relief that Scott had been feeling abruptly dissipated and his body froze, as Stiles turned and faced him. He had thought that removing his hands would break whatever spell-like trance that Stiles had been under, but instead of seeing Stiles' familiar, hazel-brown eyes, he found he was still looking into the same dark, purple chaos as before; but before he could say anything, Stiles was stepping away and motioning towards the stone. "Take it," he said, a sense of urgency in his voice that Scott knew was all Stiles, despite the colour of his eyes.

Scott turned to the emerald bowl; he was hesitant, at first, wary that what had happened to Stiles could happen to him, but there was no time to focus on it – the only way to save their friends' lives would be to get the bowl to them, and to get it to them now. So without a second thought, Scott grabbed the bowl, and lifted it into the air.

Nothing happened to him, at least nothing that he could tell, and without another word Scott quickly carried the bowl across the room and through the passageway, until he arrived in the main room where Lydia, Malia, and Liam remained strung up along the wall beside each other.

A table sat in the middle of the room and Scott quickly set the emerald bowl down on top of it, his eyes catching the shimmering-green imprints that it had left on his arms. There was no time to wonder about it though, as Jacob's voice was suddenly breaking through the silence.

"What do we do now?" he asked. He was eyeing Stiles uncertainly, as Scott could tell Daniel was, too, but Stiles took absolutely no notice. "How are we going to get their souls back into their bodies? We don't even know if they're really in there –."

The werewolf was cut off as Stiles suddenly stepped forward, heading towards the emerald. Scott's heart started race and he quickly opened his mouth: "Stiles, stop – you can't –."

But before Scott could finish, Stiles was reaching into the bowl, and dipping his hands inside.

The white wisps of souls brushed over Stiles' hands, laying across his fingers like silk. He could immediately feel the person within it – their feelings, their thoughts, their character – their _essence_. Every single thing that made that person who they were.

The soul he held in his hands now was bright and strong, smart and cunning. They would be a force to be reckoned with in the future, and their connection to the supernatural was nothing to be scoffed at. They were a blooming flower on a warm, spring day: _Lydia_.

Scott watched as Stiles lifted his hands out of the bowl, his glowing, amethyst eyes never leaving the space above them. At first Scott was confused, wondering if Stiles had truly lost it; but as he turned and began making his way towards the wall where their friends hung, Scott suddenly felt something shift in the room, and he could almost swear he could see a wisp of light hovering above Stiles' fingers.

Stiles could feel the soul's energy humming above his hands, its light warming his fingers, and without waiting another second he lifted them up and pressed it against the skin above Lydia's chest.

Without warning, Lydia's eyes suddenly snapped open and she sucked in a great, massive breath of air, like a drowning person having finally broke the water's surface.

A weight that Scott hadn't realised was on his shoulders suddenly lifted, and he couldn't help the relief that coursed through his body at the sight of Lydia moving, breathing – alive. He watched as Lydia's breathing slowly came under control, her wide eyes moving frantically around the room until they landed on him. "S-Scott?" she stuttered out, and Scott quickly made his way over to her, gently holding her arm as he began pulling on the chains that held her to the wall.

"You're okay, Lydia," he said reassuringly as he broke the first chain from the stone. "You're okay. We're going to get you out of here."

Lydia stared at Scott for a moment longer, before her eyes caught movement to her left, and she looked up to see Stiles placing his hands in a green, glowing basin, before lifting them carefully back out. When he turned, their eyes met, and Lydia felt herself gasp.

Stiles' eyes were a pure amethyst, its colour encompassing the entirety of his eyes, slowly moving through them like molten lava. Lydia could only stare in complete shock as Stiles stepped forward until he was in front of Malia, raising his arms and pressing his hands above her chest. Continuing to suck in breaths of air, Lydia stammered out, "S-Scott, Stiles – _what_ –."

The last chain was pulled from the stone and Lydia fell into Scott's arms, her body collapsing in his hold as her legs immediately gave out from under her. She watched in stunned incredulity as Stiles' hands pressed against Malia's collarbone, the young woman waking up with a sudden gasp, not unlike Lydia's own, a second later.

As her thoughts began to sort themselves back together and strength slowly began to return to her body, Lydia shifted until she was managing to lean against the stone wall. She took a moment to look around, wondering where she was, before all the memories suddenly rushed back to her – memories of being swept away but a tidal wave of water, of waking up in a dark and freezing cave, of being strung up by a manic man – Ran Gore – and hung like a piece of meat set out to dry. She remembered how they'd fought, how she'd tried to use her scream against him, tried to free themselves – but none of it had worked. The next thing she'd known, Gore was smiling at her, touching her, reaching into her chest, and then –

And then there was nothing.

Her mind worked frantically to put all the missing pieces together, trying to understand what was happening now. They'd been kidnapped, obviously – and now they were being rescued. Lydia had to admit, she wasn't sure she'd ever felt such relief a seeing her friends' faces again.

Except… except Stiles. Because something was wrong with him, something was off. The dark, amethyst lava that churned across his eyes, the way he was walking, the way he was moving, the fact that he was carrying _something_ in his hands, something she couldn't quite see. Whatever it was, it was waking each of them up; and although that was a good thing – a very good thing – Lydia couldn't remove her eyes from Stiles as he smiled at Malia, his words soft and quiet as he spoke:

"Don't worry Malia," he said, and Lydia could see Malia's wide, incredulous eyes staring back at him, clearly as taken aback by his appearance as she was. Stiles moved back to the table, dipping his hands in the emerald basin once more. His eyes glanced at Lydia, before flickering back to basin. "Your souls were taken from you," he explained gently, his arm resting against the stone for a few, long moments, before he began moving them once more. "But you're safe now. I'll make sure of that."

As though to defy his words a low rumble began to sound from beneath them, growing louder and louder with each passing second, until the rumbling turned into shaking, and dust and pieces of stone began to fall down on them from above.

Stiles glanced up at the ceiling, wishing, not for the first time, that the ropes were off his arms and his powers were working, so that he'd be able to tell exactly where in the mountain Ran Gore was. From what little he could feel, he knew that the man was not far away. They had to move quickly, if they wished to escape in time.

Dipping his hands into the last souls held in the emerald, Stiles spoke firmly to the two werewolves in front of him: "Pull her down," he commanded. Without a single word, Daniel ran over to Malia and began breaking the chains on her wrists. Within seconds she was free and falling into Daniel's arms.

Stiles could feel Liam's young soul circling in the basin and was about to take hold of it, when a thought suddenly ran through his mind as the mountain continued to shake around them. He paused, and a moment later he heard Jacob's voice, telling them to hurry up, telling them that he could smell Ran Gore, that he was on his way –

Without waiting another moment, Stiles released his hold on Liam's soul and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, grabbing onto and taking out the shard of glass inside. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the aged, worn-out soul of David's, and dropped it into the mirror.

The glass shone brightly for a brief, quick moment, before the soul disappeared inside. The light faded, but the shard remained unnaturally warm against his hand. Without a word Stiles tucked the mirror back inside his shirt, and zipped the pocket closed. It was a temporary fix, he knew, it wouldn't last long, but for the moment it would have to do.

As the rumbling grew louder and the ground began to shake harder, Stiles quickly grabbed onto Liam's soul and lifted it out of the bowl, turning round and quickly striding over to the werewolf's body. Within moments he was pressing the white wisps into Liam's chest, and seconds after that the young werewolf was coughing and sputtering back into consciousness. Daniel went over to him without a word, making quick work of the chains and helping him back to the ground.

"All right," Scott said, leaning Lydia gently against the wall as he let go of her body. Stiles watched as he all but ran to the now-empty emerald basin, and he felt himself suddenly jerking forward, instinct yelling at him to stop – to not touch the stone, don't you _dare_ destroy it you _bastar_ –

With the strength and ease that only a werewolf could possess, Scott lifted the basin high into the air, and threw it to the ground.

It broke upon impact, its weight coupled with Scott's strength completely shattering it into a million different pieces.

Stiles felt as though the air had been knocked out of him and found himself starting to fall, before he quickly caught and righted himself. His head felt both full and empty, both clear and clouded, and it took him a moment to remember where he was and who he was with. Taking one look around, his memories quickly came back to himself, and a rush of relief went through his body as he realised that everyone's souls were back in their bodies, that they were alive. _They were alive._

Stiles looked up and his eyes met Scott's; he could see a look of relief cross his friend's face when their gazes met, though for what reason, Stiles didn't know.

"Come on," the alpha said, motioning everyone towards the passage that would lead them back to the mountain's exit. "We need to get out of here as fast as we can."

Everyone moved – Scott holding onto Lydia, Jacob onto Malia, and Daniel onto Liam – heading towards the room's entrance and heading into the passageway. The mountain continued to shake around them, the rumbling now a constant noise within their ears, urging them forward with every passing second.

Stiles started to move, about to follow after them, when a glimmer of green caught the edge of his eye. He looked down and his eyes fell to the millions of emerald shards that lay scattered across the floor, each reflecting off the light of the torches that continued to flicker along the wall. Stiles stared at them, unable to tear his eyes away. Feelings of strength and power flashed through his mind, echoing their sensations through his body, their memories dancing enticingly behind his eyes, calling to him, urging him forward, begging him to pick them up, _pick them up_ –

 _"_ _STILES! COME ON!"_

Stiles' head snapped up at Scott's voice, his eyes staring into the darkness where everyone had disappeared. He knew he should move, that he should be following after them _right_ _now_ , and he would – he was going to. He was going to run after them right away, he was – yes, right now; he was going to leave right now, and….

Looking back down, Stiles spotted a torn piece of fabric laying on the floor. It looked like a piece of Malia's shirt, which had been ripped and frayed when he had put her soul back in her body. In the next second, Stiles grabbed the fabric and placed it over a large shard that lay near his feet, and quickly tucked it inside his jacket. In the next breath he was rising to his feet, and running down into the darkness after his friends.

* * *

This wasn't like the last time he and Scott had been trying to escape Ran Gore's mountain; that time they'd been lost, they'd been following a scent that had been purposely manipulated to lead them to their deaths. They'd never known where the exit was, they'd never known where freedom lay. This time, however, they had not one but _three_ werewolves chasing the same scent, following back through the twists and turns that they knew would lead them out of the mountain and into the valley below.

The mountain continued to shake as they ran, rock and dust raining down on them faster and faster the closer they made it to the tunnel's end. Stiles wondered whether Darius was still alive, or if he had been dead for a while now; whether Ran Gore was injured and hurt, or whether he was simply biding his time, toying with them as he always did – choosing to wait until the last second to arrive and kill them all for good.

But he didn't arrive. As the minutes passed and the number of turns and passages they had left to run through grew fewer and fewer, Stiles began to feel a seed of hope sprout in his chest, as he began to realise that maybe – just maybe – they would actually make it out and back into daylight.

Eventually the darkness began to lessen, and Stiles was able to make out the light of the sun shining into the mine's entrance. They were minutes away now, minutes away from the danger of the mountain and the safety of the outside. Malia and Liam were now nearly running entirely on their own, while Lydia still needed Scott to help her run down uneven and shaking floor.

As they drew close to the exit, the trees and brush now visible in the tunnel's entrance, a loud scream suddenly tore through the passageway, nearly knocking them over and causing each of them to recoil at its ferocity. Stiles could see both Daniel and Jacob jerk violently, their heads swivelling round to stare behind them, and he knew then that Darius was dead.

If they had thought that the mountain was shaking before, it was nothing compared to what it was doing now. They were nearly thrown to the ground as the earth around them shook, the sound of the quake becoming a deafening, white noise in their ears. Stiles could hear Scott shouting, yelling at them, but he wasn't able to make out what he was saying. Everyone seemed to suddenly move faster though, and the mountain's exit quickly grew larger and larger in Stiles' vision.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, whether he was expecting the ground to split apart or the side of the mountain to come tumbling down upon them, but neither of those things happened, and one by one, right after the other, they poured through the opening and into the trees below.

A tension that had been squeezing round Stiles' stomach and chest suddenly loosened, and a massive rush of relief came crashing down upon him, as they started running through the trees and towards the valley below. They'd made it – they were out.

The rumbling of the quake had lessened, but the shaking ground beneath them did not. The snow that had blanketed the mountain only an hour before was suddenly gone, the sun shining brightly through the sky down upon them. They ran through the trees, weaving in and amongst them, nearly falling over their feet until they finally – _finally_ – made it to the mountain's base.

The trees grew sparse and moments later they were running along the edge of the valley, moving further and further away from Gore's mountain, heading towards the town as fast as they could. When walking, it would take at least an hour to reach the town's boundary – running would hopefully take half that time. A burst of strength surged through Stiles' legs, and he felt his pace increase as he did all he could to keep up with the werewolves.

They'd been running for nearly ten minutes, the mountain now fully within view in the distance and growing further and further away with every step, when the valley suddenly dipped, and they nearly fell down the hill into the basin below. The wolves managed to keep their footing, but Stiles felt himself stumble and he fell to the ground in a heap. He started to get back up at the same moment that a piercing shriek broke through the air, quickly turning into a deep, deafening _roar_. Stiles' eyes flew up to meet the mountain in the distance, his eyes quickly growing as wide as saucers at what he saw.

The mountain's top had a river of water swirling around it like a whirlpool, its peak barely visible from above it. A golden light wove in and amongst it, shaping the water and moving it faster and faster with every round. The light and water thrummed with an energy that reverberated through the air, a power that almost left Stiles breathless. It was magic – Ran Gore's magic.

And it was coming straight for them.

At the sound of someone's scream, Stiles' head snapped to the others in front of him, where everyone was standing frozen the ground, unable to tear their eyes away from what was heading towards them. The cyclone of magic and water flew down from the mountain like a raging river, and Stiles watched as everyone instinctively ducked, some raising their hands in front of them, others sheltering each other as best they could for the moment they were hit.

Before Stiles even knew what he was doing he was suddenly on his feet, and in the next moment he was standing in front of them, his arm outstretched, just as the roaring river crashed into them.

Scott had been expecting an impact, he had been expecting death – but when neither happened he looked up, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Stiles' arm was outstretched, his fingers splayed, muscles straining in his neck and hands as the raging water surged upwards and around them with a roar, not one drop making it past the barrier that Stiles was holding.

Thunder crashed above them, but Scott took barely any notice, his eyes unable to leave the power that his friend was holding against the water – against Ran Gore. He heard a gasp below him and his eyes flickered to the left, where Lydia and Malia were both staring at Stiles with wide, shocked, and disbelieving eyes. Their hair flew back against the strength of the water and wind rushing around them, and Scott watched as Lydia's mouth silently formed Stiles' name in incredulity. He looked over to Liam, Daniel, and Jacob – all of whom look less surprised than Lydia and Malia, but no less awed at what was happening before them.

Thunder crashed again, and a pained cry wrenched itself from Stiles' throat. Scott's head whipped back to Stiles, where he could see his arm beginning to fall from beneath the strain of the relentless river trying to break through the barrier and reach them. Scott jerked forward, about to run to him, but at that moment Stiles' other arm lifted as his jaw clenched together, and the torrent of water and magic that had been growing steadily nearer was suddenly pushed back. The sound of the water roaring over them was deafening, making it nearly impossible to hear anything save for the thunder crashing above them.

In the next moment, Stiles began to scream, his face twisted in rage and pain, and a mist of dark blue and white formed around his eyes and arms. Something caught the corner of Scott's vision and fear stabbed through his chest, as he realised that blood was running down Stiles' face from his nose and eyes. Scott made to move, about to step forward when suddenly, like a rubber band being snapped, the barrage of water and magic disappeared and Stiles was suddenly flung backwards, his body spinning through the air before it disappeared and crashed through the trees.

There were shouts and screams of fear and panic from the others, but Scott pushed them aside, pushing everything back as he placed all his focus on only one thing – _escape_.

Before anyone could even say a word, Scott was handing Lydia to Daniel who quickly took her in his arms, already knowing what Scott was going to do.

"Get them to the town," Scott said quickly, the command growled deep in his throat. Lydia and Malia both started to protest, but Scott just pushed them forwards, yelling as they began to run: "GO!" Without a second glance, Scott turned round and headed into the trees.

He followed Stiles' scent through the forest, and soon found him lying in a heap at the base of a large tree. A stab of panic coursed through his body but Scott ignored it, quickly arriving at Stiles' side and kneeling on the ground beside him. "Stiles! _Stiles!_ " He didn't wait for the elemental to reply, as he began running his hands along his neck and back, black tendrils seeping through his hands and up his arms, searching for any break in Stiles' body.

It was impossible, Scott knew it was – but somehow, someway, neither Stiles' back nor neck were broken. He was radiating pain from all across his body, but somehow, not a single bone had been broken in the impact his body had made with the tree.

Tilting him on his back, Scott's eyes fell across the blood that was still dripping from Stiles' nose, eyes, and ears. Stiles' eyes were closed as his head hung limply to the side, unconscious. Scott pressed his hand to his chest, closing his eyes and holding it there for the briefest moment, taking in one last surge of pain, before he picked Stiles up and stood to his feet, and ran through the trees to safety as fast as he could.

* * *

A/N: Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! I'd love to hear from you :) Thanks!


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: I normally don't like to give excuses for updating later than usual, but this was a rather long wait, so I can only say that I went from no jobs to two jobs and I literally had no time to write the next chapter. I'm very sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

* * *

Lydia hadn't felt more shocked and confused in her entire life – except those words really weren't anything even close to the emotions that were whirling through her right now.

She followed after Malia and the two werewolves – neither of whom she had ever seen before in her life and now here she was _entrusting_ them with her life, but she didn't exactly have time to deal with _that_ nonsense right now – as they made their way through the trees, down hills and up hills, running non-stop as though the devil himself were on their heels. The sight of houses suddenly appeared in the distance, and Lydia felt an wave of relief wash over her as she finally realised where they were going. Soon they were breaking through the tree line and running into the town's gravelled dirt-street, and it was only when they passed the first few houses that they finally came to a stop.

Lydia could hear Malia and Liam's voices shouting at the two men, their anger spewing forth in a myriad of questions, and demands for answers as to what the hell was going on. But although Lydia wanted to know too, all she could think about was the memory playing over and over again behind her eyes; of the rush of magic and water coming straight towards them, of thinking _this is it, I'm going to die_ – only to suddenly hear a great roar and when she looked up, she saw –

Lydia took a breath.

She'd known something had been up. Ever since Stiles had been kidnapped by the witch, he had been acting just a little more different – just a little more strange. She had figured it was because that was what happened when you were taken and tortured for a week; when you experienced something that no one, young or old, thought they would ever have to experience in their lifetime.

It had been just like with the nogitsune; the Stiles that she had known before had never fully come back – not really. But then, neither one of them were the same people that they had been when this all began, so she had thought that it was the same thing – that the small changes in Stiles' behaviour and personality were simply the result of all the trauma and horror that he had gone through.

Well, clearly she had been wrong.

At the moment, Lydia wasn't sure what she was feeling; but as she turned around, her eyes searching for the missing members of their group – of their pack – she knew that all that mattered right now was whether or not Stiles was okay. So doing the only thing she could at the moment, Lydia closed her eyes and calmed herself – searching deep for the too-familiar feeling of a scream, of the foreshadow of death, and whether Stiles' name was being whispered within it.

To her immense relief, she could find none.

Opening her eyes, Lydia gazed into the distance, searching through the trees and the hills for any movement, for any hint of Scott or Stiles. It was only when she caught sight of Malia in her peripheral that she realised the rest of the group had fallen silent, and they were all now waiting for… for….

Lydia's breath caught in her throat.

 _There_.

* * *

Scott had been all but tearing through the trees when he suddenly felt Stiles shift in his arms and he immediately came to a halt, his sneakers nearly ripping from his feet as he slid to a stop. He watched as Stiles' eyes moved back and forth beneath his lids, before they finally fluttered open with a groan. Scott quickly began calling his name: "Stiles – _Stiles!_ "

Stiles' eyes stared unfocusedly in the distance for a few moments, before they finally landed on Scott. Scott watched as recognition set in, followed quickly be realisation, and before he had time to say a word, Stiles was pushing against his arms and struggling in his hold. "Let… let me down. Let me down, Scott," he demanded.

The tone of his voice was one that Scott knew was futile to argue with, so he slowly let go of Stiles' legs, but he kept an iron grip beneath his arms. Stiles held his arm around Scott's shoulders as he struggled to stay upright, until at last his feet were on solid ground. He couldn't stop the gasp that quickly turned into a groan, as he squeezed his eyes shut and fought to keep back the pain as his vision turned white.

" – iles – Stiles, man – are you okay? Are you –."

"I – I'm fine," Stiles managed to stutter out, even though he and Scott both knew he was lying. He felt as though someone had taken molten lava and ran it through his veins, scorching every inch of him from inside out. He felt Scott tense beside him, and he knew as the pain slightly lessened that the werewolf was now getting a taste of what he felt, too.

"Stiles, are you sure? What Gore tried to do, and – and then you were thrown into the _trees_ –."

"I _swear_ Scott, I'm okay. I'll live."

And he was okay, sort of. Though he felt as though he'd been set on fire, he knew that none of his bones were broken or ribs even fractured; he was sure he could walk if Scott would let him, and he knew that even though he felt he felt drained of all energy, he wasn't about to collapse from exhaustion. Not yet, anyway. "And if you ask me one more time, I'm going to punch you in the face."

Scott resisted the urge to refute him, knowing that now wasn't the time to argue. "Come on," he said, his one hand squeezing tighter around Stiles' back, as the other readjusted its grip on the arm that was slung around the back of his neck. Together they started limping forward, step by step, until eventually Stiles was finally able to get his knees to stay locked beneath him.

"Where – where are the others?" Stiles suddenly asked, his voice strained and muscles tensing beneath Scott's arms. "D-did they get out okay? Did they –."

"They're fine, they're safe," Scott quickly assured. "They're with Daniel and Jacob; we'll meet up with them in the town…."

Stiles' teeth clenched in his jaw and he turned his eyes back to the road ahead of them, putting all his focus on placing one step in front of the other.

Scott glanced up at Stiles' face, staring at the bright-red blood that was now smeared across his face, smudged over his mouth and cheeks from where it had run from his eyes and nose. His hair was matted around his ears with it, his entire body reeking of the unsavory and distinct smell of copper that Scott always hated to smell – especially when it held Stiles' scent. Clenching his teeth, Scott forced himself to keep walking, not even aware when the black lines running up his hands and arms deepened.

It was slow but steady going, the threat of Ran Gore ever present at their backs, pushing them forward with each step. Finally, after what felt like an age, the outskirts of the town came into view, the figures of their friends standing to meet them at its edge.

Seeing Lydia and Malia's terrified and concerned faces, Scott suddenly remembered what had been quietly gnawing on the back of his mind for the past half hour that they'd been walking. "They know," he said quietly, forcing himself to continue forward. "They saw, when Ran Gore, when he –."

"I know," Stiles said quietly.

Scott could hear the resignation in his voice, mixed with the barest hint of fear. He wanted to reassure him, to tell him that it'd be all right – and it would be, in the end, he was sure of it – but for the moment…. "They're not going to be happy."

He heard Stiles take a breath. "I know."

They continued walking for another mile until at last they arrived the town, and they reached their friends.

Malia was the first to step towards them, her eyes fastened in muted fear on Stiles' face, where blood continued to drip slowly from his nose and ears. "Stiles, Stiles, are you –."

"He's fine," Scott intervened, trying to lessen the barrage of questions that he knew were inevitably going to be asked. But he knew it would be as futile as trying to stop a tidal wave. Nonetheless, he gripped his arm tighter around Stile's back and doggedly pushed on, knowing that they needed to find shelter and a place to rest. The air had grown cold in the past hour, and he could feel a storm coming on the horizon – and the breath of Ran Gore coming with it.

"Stiles, man," Liam said, trying to follow alongside them as they walked. "What –."

"Liam," Scott said sternly, trying not to sound angry, but at the same time knowing that they didn't have time for this, not right now. "As happy as I am to see you, we need to find a place to stay. We can't –."

"Follow me," Daniel said, turning on his heel and starting to lead them down the street. "I know a place where we can stay."

They followed the werewolf down the road, walking for only a few minutes before he abruptly turned and started heading down an alleyway. It was only a couple minutes after that before he stopped in front of an old, two-storey house, turned the doorknob, and walked inside.

The moment they entered the house, Stiles felt something akin to a percussion reverberate through his body – as though someone had taken a drum and beat it once from within him, sending a low shockwave from his chest to his feet. After that, Stiles could only describe what he felt as being filled with an utter and complete sense of protection. It didn't make sense, and Stiles couldn't say how, but he knew that for the time being, they were safe.

Well, safe from Ran Gore, at least. Stiles wasn't so sure about anyone else. The silence that had fallen over them as they had walked had been growing steadily with each passing minute, a silence filled with shock, betrayal, and questions – so many questions – and Stiles knew it was only a matter of time before it would break.

"Here," Daniel said, leading them over to the kitchen where four wooden chairs sat around an old, hard-wood table, each piece of furniture covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of grey dust. Daniel pulled a chair out and Scott lowered Stiles onto it.

It was only after he was sitting that Stiles realised how exhausted he was. It felt like a constant presence in his life, exhaustion. A rollercoaster. It felt as though all he did was save up his energy as fast as he could, only to use it all up in one go to the point of collapse, then repeat the process over and over again, without end. It was ridiculous and it was draining – and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.

It was only when Scott started speaking that Stiles realised his eyes had closed and he quickly opened them back up, trying to listen to what Scott was saying. Instead, he caught the eyes of Lydia, who was looking back at him intently. He fought the urge to swallow and lean away, as the look she was giving him was one that never meant good news for the one she was looking at. Her eyes were dark and brows set together in a hard stare, her body completely rigid as her hands lay clenched at her sides. It was a look that said she knew something was up – and well, yeah, of course she did, they all did now – and that she was determined to learn its truth no matter what. Stiles took a deep breath.

Wonderful.

"… and then we'll get out of the mountains and find the Calcraft pack, and we'll re-group there. You can send your pack back to your home, and –."

There was an immediate cacophony of voices that filled the room.

"What? We're not going anywhere! We're going to stay with you, and –."

"Ran Gore has been a thorn in these mountains for over a century. He is _our_ problem, and _we_ will be the ones to deal with it – as we should have done long ago."

"We're not going back. We're not going back! Scott, tell him!"

"Daniel, I know you're just trying to help, but Lydia is a banshee, Malia's a werecoyote – they've fought the supernatural before; they can –."

"This is a matter for werewolves, McCall, and werewolves only. If you had an actual werewolf pack, you might know –."

"I'm a werewolf!"

Stiles felt a headache coming on.

"You're nothing but a pup! The first chance he gets, Ran Gore will kill you –."

"Well I'm a _werecoyote_. I might not be a wolf, but I'm just as good as you are! In fact, I'm _better_ –."

"You are not coming back with us, and that's final –."

"Daniel, this is my pack and if I say they stay, they stay –."

"You do not get a say in this, McCall! I am the head of the Darius pack now and _I_ am the one that will make the final decision! If Darius were here, he would say the same thing! But he's not, thanks to _you_ , along with our entire pack –."

"Daniel, I don't think this is the time –."

"Stay out of this, Jacob!"

"I don't care what you say; I'm staying here and fighting this guy with you. He kidnapped us, he strung us up and ripped our souls out of our bodies, and now you're saying he's doing the same to everyone in Beacon Hills? And you expect me to just sit back and do nothing?! You're insa –."

"No, coyote – you are the one who is mad, if you think you can even stand a _chance_ against this man. There is a reason we left him alone for over a hundred years; there is a reason he should have stayed untouched in that mountain; there is a reason he should have _never_ been released –."

"Well damn your reasons! I'm not going back, and that's final –."

"McCall, control your pack!"

"I'm not making them go back, Daniel!"

"Well then you are sentencing them to death. Is that what you want?"

"No, I –."

"Then order them to go home!"

"I can't do that! They've fought with me before, they can –."

"They are not coming."

"Yes, we are!"

"I will not have any more blood spilled in these mountains, and you will only hinder us, and –."

"Stiles, what was that?"

The voices that a moment before had been shouting over one another came to a halt, and silence suddenly fell over the entire room. Stiles opened his eyes and his insides grew cold as he realised that everyone's attention was now focused solely on him. He looked back at Lydia, the one who had spoken, and he knew that the time had come.

Taking a breath, Stiles was about to speak, when Scott suddenly spoke before him: "Lydia, now's maybe not the best time. Maybe later, when we're all –."

"No," Stiles intervened, his voice quiet but firm. As much as he appreciated what Scott was doing, as much as he appreciated that he was trying to help, this was something that he needed to do. Scott had covered for him all too much over the past seven months; he had deflected questions and turned people's gazes more than enough times. But no more.

Straightening his back, Stiles looked Lydia in the eye, and spoke: "I'm an elemental."

There was a long silence, no one in the room moving an inch or taking a breath. Finally, after what felt like an age, Lydia shook herself out of her stupor and her eyebrows raised into an incredulous stare, looking at him as though she hadn't heard right. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice deceptively calm. "But what did you just say?"

Stiles took a breath, his body steeling itself for what was to come. "I'm an elemental. I can… I can use the elements. Earth, Air, Fire – I can control them –."

"I'm sorry," Lydia said again, interrupting him. "But did you just say you're an… an _elemental_? That you can control the elements with your _mind_?!"

"I never said my mind, but, essentially, yes."

There was a long and heavy silence, not one person saying a word, before Lydia finally continued. "And tell me, _Stiles_ ," she said, her tongue snapping his name like a whip, "just when did you figure out that you could do this? Was it just a few weeks ago? Is that why this man in the mountain is attacking us? Or did Peter bite you too, and then you found out that you could –."

"No!" Stiles quickly intervened, leaning forward. "No, it wasn't – Peter never bit me; none of this happened until –."

"Until what, Stiles? Huh?! When could this have _possibly_ happe –."

"It was Givens."

Lydia stopped in her tracks, momentarily taken aback. After a moment, her words came back to her: "The witch?" she said quietly, her features shifting from anger to surprise. "But how –."

"She didn't take me because she was trying to get to Scott. She took me because she knew that I… that I had these… these _powers_. She knew what I could do, even though I didn't and she wanted… she wanted to take them, and –."

Lydia stared. "So you just get kidnapped by some witch who wants your powers, and then they magically just show up?"

Stiles took another breath, and edge of frustration tinting his voice. "It's more complicated than that, Lydia. I –."

"Don't take that tone with me, Stiles," Lydia interrupted angrily, a hint of hurt seeping into her eyes. Guilt coursed through Stiles' chest and he swallowed, emotions that he had been trying to keep down for the past month suddenly starting to bubble to the surface.

Lydia opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head as she took a step back. "I just – I just can't believe you've been keeping this from us, for so long. Why didn't you ever _tell_ us –."

"Because I needed time to figure things out," Stiles quickly said. "I needed time to understand exactly what it was I could do, what I… what I was. And that meant not telling anyone, at least for a while. At least until I knew what I could –."

The harsh edge of anger in Lydia's eyes suddenly returned, her gaze forming back into a glare as she looked back at Stiles. "But let me guess," she said, her voice low. "Scott knew your little secret? He knew that you were an – an _elemental_?"

Stiles bit his lip, trying to figure out how to answer her, knowing exactly what she was trying to do –

"I thought so," she said, not giving him time to reply, his silence and the look on his face evidently an answer in itself.

Stiles shook his head. "Lydia, it's not what you think. When Scott found me at Givens', he saw me use my powers, so I had no choice but to –."

"Oh don't give me that bullshit, Stiles! You know as well as the rest of us that even if Scott hadn't seen you, you still would have told him."

Stiles wanted to say she was wrong, wanted to ease the hurt that was so evident within her, but he couldn't – because he knew she was right. Even if Scott had never seen him fight against Givens, even if he had only ever thought it was a mistaken kidnapping, he still would have eventually told him. Because keeping a secret like that from Scott would have been like trying to stop the earth from turning. It was impossible.

Stiles' silence was answer enough.

Lydia just glared. "I thought so. Did anyone else know? Did they all –."

"No, Lydia," Stiles said firmly. He could feel the anger beginning to rise in his chest, its heat crawling up the back of his neck as the stress, coupled with exhaustion from everything that had been going on, began to settle on his shoulders. "The only other person that knew was Liam, and that's only because I had to use my powers to save him from the wolf that was working with Givens. I didn't even tell my own father, because I knew if I did, that I –." Stiles stopped himself, his voice choking as he pushed back the anger that was threatening to overtake him. This wasn't the time for this – this wasn't the time for any of it.

Steadying himself, Stiles closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths before looking back up at Lydia once more, his eyes set in a hard stare. "Lydia, right now we need to defeat Ran Gore, or else everyone we know is going to die. You want an apology? Fine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you that I was an elemental; I'm sorry that I chose to keep what was happening to me to myself, that I kept my problems to myself. I'm sorry that while we sit here fighting over the fact that I didn't tell you my secret, a secret that's the most life-changing thing I've ever experienced, and you're standing here yelling at me because I just wanted time to figure things out, I _needed_ time to figure everything _out,_ and –."

Stiles felt someone shift beside him, and he suddenly became aware of the ropes pressing hot against his arms. He quickly leaned back, digging the palms of his hands hard against his eyes, trying to calm down the beating heart that was suddenly racing in his chest.

As he gathered himself back together, he heard Scott speak above him: "Lydia, I know you're upset, and you have every right to be. But I kept Stiles' secret as much as he did, so if you're going to be angry at him, you need to be angry at me, too. But right now, none of that matters. Right now we have to stop Ran Gore, and after that you can yell at us as much as you want – okay?"

There was a long and heavy silence, neither of them saying a word, before Lydia finally turned around and disappeared through the door without a word.

The weight of stress and exhaustion that had settled on Stiles' shoulders increased tenfold, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be alone. But when he opened his eyes and saw Malia's face, he knew he couldn't do that; not yet.

Malia wasn't happy, that much he could tell. Her mouth was set in a thin line and her eyes were dark, holding a look that portrayed the anger that was simmering just below the surface. But while Lydia hadn't hesitated in voicing what she thought, Malia was staying oddly quiet. Finally after a few moments, she spoke: "You should have told us," she said quietly. "We deserved to know. But," she added, taking a breath, "I know why you didn't."

There was a long pause, then: "I saw you in the classroom, when you made fire appear in your hand." A jolt of shock went through Stiles, but he had no time to process it before the woman continued: "So maybe this isn't as big a surprise to me as it is to Lydia. I kinda already figured that you were keeping something from us – something big. But still – you should have told us." She said nothing more, and a moment later she turned around and left.

Silence fell over the room once more. After a minute Jacob left, muttering something about making sure they didn't wander off somewhere, leaving only Stiles, Scott, Daniel, and Liam left in the room.

Stiles stared after the empty open door, a myriad of emotions swirling through him. He didn't know what to think. On the one hand he was angry, mad at Lydia for how she reacted, upset that Malia hadn't been more on his side while at the same time feeling guilty and frustrated with himself, knowing that their finding out had only been a matter of time, that all of this had been inevitable, and –

A hand suddenly gripped Stiles' shoulder and he was torn out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Scott staring down at him, deep lines etched around his eyes. "Come on," he said, pulling Stiles to his feet. "It's getting dark. Let's go find a room to crash in for the night; Daniel and Jacob will keep an eye on them."

Stiles wanted to argue, to go back and have it out with Lydia and Malia, to make sure that they and Liam were okay after all that had happened, but he knew that Scott was right. Now wasn't the time for any of that. What they needed to do now was get the heck out of Dodge and hightail it back to safety. From there, they'd be able to finally gather some back up and put an end to Ran Gore once and for all.

They eventually found a room upstairs at the back, which was filled with only a vanity, desk, and bed. After making sure he'd be all right by himself, Scott let Stiles go and went back out into the hall and down the stairs, most likely to find the pack and have a very much needed talk. For the first time in what felt like an age, Stiles was alone.

Pulling out the chair in front of the vanity, Stiles sat down and let out a deep sigh, his eyes drifting to the window and watching as the last light of the setting sun seeped through the window.

For the longest time, his mind was empty. It was only after a faint rumbling sounded in the distance, that Stiles suddenly broke out of his stupor and took in a shuddering breath, raising his hand and running it through his hair, gripping its strands painfully and wishing in the silence that he wasn't here, that none of them were here, that Darius and his pack were alive, that Beacon Hills wasn't in the middle of being reaped and that Ran Gore had never been released from his mountain.

He didn't realise how much time had passed until footsteps creaked across the old wooden floorboards, and a moment later Scott was walking into the room. Blinking, Stiles suddenly realised that the orange glow of the setting sun was now gone, the room now cast in a grey, dusk light.

"Hey," Scott said softly, making his way over to his friend.

Stiles looked up, catching Scott's eye and raising his eyebrow expectantly. "So?" he asked, as Scott settled against the wall. "Just how much do they hate me?"

Scott let out a sigh. "They don't hate you, Stiles. They're just upset. It's not every day you get taken by a lunatic and have your soul stolen, and then find out one of your friends has supernatural powers and can control the elements. They just need time to adjust."

"It's more common than you think," Stiles replied, a slight bite on the edge of his tongue. At Scott's reproving look, Stiles shook his head. "I know," he whispered, staring off into the corner of the room.

For a while neither of them said anything, but after a few minutes Scott's voice spoke, low and quiet. "Stiles?" Stiles looked up, an eyebrow raised questioningly. There was a moment's hesitation, Scott's lips pressing thinly together, before he continued: "Stiles, back in the mountain… back – back the room, when we found their souls, what… what happened –."

Memories suddenly began playing behind Stiles' eyes, as Scott's words suddenly brought back the moment in the mountain when he'd found the emerald, when he'd touched it, when he'd felt as though he were on top of the world, seeing everything that could be seen, and –

Stiles sucked in a breath, his heart suddenly beginning to speed up. He'd forgotten – he'd forgotten the moment he'd touched the stone, the feeling of power coursing through his veins; of all the elements rushing through him, waiting at his feet, at his fingertips, ready to be used at a moment's thought –

"Stiles?"

Stiles broke out of his reverie and he looked up at Scott, the alpha's concerned eyes staring back into his own. Stiles swallowed, pushing back the remnants of euphoria that was still fluttering through his veins, and he forced himself to look at the memories objectively.

Scott was right. What _had_ happened? What on earth was that emerald, and why had it made him react like he had? How was it able to make him feel as though he had touched the core of the earth and had seen the world?

"Your eyes were purple."

Stiles blinked and looked up at Scott in bemusement. "What?"

"Your eyes. They were… they were a different colour, but not – not just the _colour_ of your eyes, but it was a colour that covered your _entire_ eyes. The whites, the irises, the pupils. It was like… it was like a kind of dark purple; an amethyst. It's happened before, in the forest back home, when you got… got sick, and we fought. They were just like that, only… you were in more control, I guess. But still, you were – you weren't yourself."

Stiles couldn't recall exactly what he did or said, the whole thing seeming more like a dream than anything else. He knew it had happened, he knew the feelings he'd felt and what he'd had to do in order to get Lydia, Malia, and Liam's souls back into their bodies – but the memories felt like walking through water, muted and slow. All he knew was that whatever it was, he wanted… he wanted to experience it aga –

"Stiles?"

Stiles jerked slightly, then swallowed, looking away. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't – it just… it felt like I suddenly had more strength than I knew what to do with, but it wasn't like… physical strength, like you. It was more like… like I knew I could do anything with the elements that I wanted – I could use the Earth or Air, Fire or Water, in whatever way I thought and it would happen. I could – I could suddenly _see_ –."

Stiles broke off at the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs, and a few moments later Lydia and Malia appeared in the doorway. Lydia still look angry, a look that Stiles would perhaps now always see when she looked at him, but the anger was subdued, was calmer than what it had been, and when she spoke she at least didn't sound as furious as she had been before. "Daniel and Jacob said they found a train at the other end of the town. There's still too much snow along the mountains, so they need to find a plow to attach to the front, but once they do we'll be able to leave. The tracks head straight out of the mountains, and it's the fastest way to get out of here. We should be able to leave by morning."

There was a pause, then Lydia turned to Stiles. "I'm still angry with you," she stated, her voice harsh but steady. "But I know what you guys did to save us, so… so thank you."

It was a peace offering; a small one, at best, but one all the same, and Stiles couldn't stop the relief from washing through his body. He looked up, about to respond, but Lydia and Malia were already gone. He sighed.

There was another silence as Stiles and Scott were left alone once more, before Stiles suddenly felt hands lifting the sleeves on his coat, and he looked over to see Scott's fingers brushing cautiously over his arms. Looking down, Stiles was taken slightly aback at what he saw.

The ropes were charred black, much of the twine lifted and frayed. It looked just about ready to break, but it wasn't the only thing that had caught Stiles and Scott's attention. Touching the rope gently with his fingers, Stiles tried to push it to the side, but the moment he did he was hissing in pain, a scream catching in his throat. Clenching his teeth, Stiles finally managed to lift the blackened rope up. Scott swore.

The rope had literally burned itself into Stiles' skin, gauging itself into his flesh, wrapping around his arm from his wrist, presumably all the way to his shoulders and across his back, and down his other arm. The flesh in-between was bright red and blistered, the burn as evident as day. Pieces of skin still clung to the edges of the charred rope and Stiles felt a wave of nausea rise in his chest.

Letting gently go of the rope, Stiles leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. After a moment he felt Scott pull the sleeve of the coat back down, asking, "Does it still hurt?"

Stiles shook his head. "No. Not really At least when I'm not touching it. I didn't even realise it was there."

Scott leaned forward. "How _were_ you able to stop Gore's attack?"

Stiles thought back, secretly wondering the same thing. "I don't know. I just… I just knew I had to stop it. I knew I had to save you guys, so I – I just did. It felt like I was on fire, as though I couldn't even breathe; but then it was over and the next thing I knew, I was being carried by you." A wry grin pulled at Stiles' face as he looked up at his friend. "You have to stop doing that, by the way. Its' not helping my manly image."

"What manly image?"

They both grinned at each other, and for a brief moment everything was as it had been; they were just two best friends, two brothers, getting into trouble and scoobying their way out of it as they always did.

But of course, things weren't as they used to be. And really, Stiles thought as he felt the last vestiges of happiness fall away, they never would be again.

As though sensing the changing mood, Scott pushed his shoulders back and put on the look that Stiles now affectionately deemed the _"I am the alpha, now"_ face. And sure enough, Scott saw it through. "All right, I think it's time for bed. We'll probably be up early tomorrow, so we should sleep while we can."

"Sorry Scott," Stiles said, leaning back in his chair. "But the role of pushy, overbearing father has been filled, thanks."

"How 'bout the role of pushy, overbearing brother?"

"That one's filled too, I'm afraid. You might need to try the 'listening to whatever Stiles says', role. That one might work well for you."

"If that happened, then we would have never made it out of elementary school."

"Hey now."

The banter was a brief respite in an otherwise endless chaos of fear and stress, but Stiles would gladly take what he could get. But as his eyes fell to the bed that lay across from him against the wall, the memories of another time in the past, one moving ever farther away but never far enough, began to play behind his eyes.

It was stupid. It was completely, utterly, entirely stupid – that here he was, in the middle of trying to escape from one that was trying to kill both him and his friends, his entire town, and yet the moment they got a chance to rest he couldn't – all because he was scared of the bed.

He tried moving towards it, tried to push back the fear that had become ingrained into instinct, but it was no use. Even thinking about sitting on the bed, much less lying down, caused his knees to lock and his body to freeze into place.

Scott, for all his ability to sometimes be oblivious in connecting the dots, somehow seemed to know exactly what was going through Stiles' mind, and without a word he left the room. He came back a few minutes later with an armful of dusty pillows and blankets, and set about laying them together on the floor in the corner of the room. Soon the makeshift-bed was complete and Scott all but commanded Stiles to lay down and go to sleep, as he made his own way underneath the blankets of the creaking-spring mattress.

Stiles tried to fall asleep, but even though his body was exhausted, he found himself looking round the room, his thoughts turning to the question of whose bedroom he and Scott were in, of whose house they had taken over and were now inhabiting.

As though to answer his question, Stiles' eyes fell across a picture frame that was standing on the top of the vanity. From where he was, he could only make out the lines of three people standing together, but their faces were covered in the reflection of the moonlight off the glass.

Curious, Stiles pushed the blankets away and rose to his feet, making his way quietly over to mirror until at last he was grasping the picture in his hands. When his eyes finally made out the people in the photo he nearly dropped it from his grasp, recognising the older man and the younger girl that stood beside each other immediately.

Alayna.

It was Alayna and her father; David standing behind his daughter while another woman – whom Stiles could only assume was his wife and Alayna's mother – stood beside them. Alayna looked a few years younger than as Stiles knew her now, and all three family members held the solemn stare, save for the slightest turn at each of their lips that betrayed their happiness.

So that's why Daniel had chosen this place to stay. He knew whose house it had been – whose house it was – and that it was probably their best chance of safety. For now.

Stiles stared at the picture for a long time, unable to tear his eyes away from young woman and man that had been so viciously pursued by Ran Gore, and who were now trapped in a fading world.

Stiles' fingers unconsciously made their way to the broken piece of mirror that lay in the inside of his jacket, and which now held the lives of two people that, if Stiles didn't figure out a solution soon, would soon both perish into nothing. He could feel the souls within it; could feel their persons, their power, their essence.

He could feel them dying.

Stiles stood in silence for a few more minutes before he finally set the frame back down on the desk and made his way back to his bed. He got under the covers and laid his head back on the pillow, his eyes staring unseeingly into the ceiling above.

He had to find a way to save them, to save the both of them. He had promised Alayna he would; that he wouldn't let her die along with her father. He had promised not to give up hope, even though Alayna already had. He had promised.

But, as Stiles knew only all too well, promises seemed made to be broken.

* * *

Stiles woke the next morning to Scott's foot nudging against his leg, forcing him awake. They eventually made their way downstairs to meet the sight of Lydia, Malia, and Jacob eating bread at the table. The girls had been talking quietly amongst themselves, but fell silent as soon as Stiles and Scott made it to the bottom step. Malia looked up at gave them both a tight-lipped nod, but Lydia's eyes remained fastened on the bread before her, as though she were completely unaware of their presence.

Stiles was going to have to talk to her; there was no way they could leave things like they were now. Not if they wanted their friendship to remain intact.

"Good, you're both awake."

Stiles looked up to see Daniel and Liam walking in through the door, letting a cold wind rush into the house from the outside, where Stiles could faintly make out the beginnings of falling snow.

Daniel kicked the door closed behind him and made his way over to the kitchen, where he proceeded to drop an armful of bread, cakes, and other assortments of food onto the table. Seeing Stiles and Scott's faces, the werewolf said, "We need to gather as much food as we can for the journey out; we need to maintain our strength as much as we can. We can't say for certain when we'll next have the time to find food."

Stiles eyed the undoubtedly stale breads, his stomach rumbling at the sight, despite their age. But as he tore a piece and began to eat, he couldn't help but feeling like a pillager in a dead man's tomb.

They quickly ate what they could and stored the rest into old bags and rucksacks that they had found throughout the house. Stiles could see the unease in Daniel and Jacob's eyes, could feel Scott's tension as though it were his own; he could sense Ran Gore's presence edging ever closer and closer to the town, like a flood just about to spill over its banks.

They had to get out, and they had to get out now.

After gathering what clothes they could for the girls and Liam, they all made their way outside into the cold, closing the door behind them. "All right," Daniel said as he began to lead them through the paths and alleyways. "Jacob and I have already found a plow that we can attach to the head of the train. We'll need McCall to help get it on, and then we'll need to start shoveling coal into the engine…."

Daniel's voice trailed off into the background, and a short while later they arrived at the train tracks where a train engine and three cars stood on the rails, large and majestic, a rustic and silent beast that looked as though it hadn't been moved in an age – and never would be again.

As Daniel, Jacob, and Scott set about lifting and attaching the plow to the front of the train, a voice suddenly sounded beside him, making him jump: "So what can you do?"

Stiles turned to see Malia standing beside him, her dark eyes staring at him intently, an expectant look on her face. He faltered for a moment, taken slightly aback by her very forward question. But really, he wasn't surprised – Malia was a rather forward person.

Finally, after standing awkwardly in silence for a few moments, Stiles found his tongue. "What… what do you mean?"

"Well you said you're an 'elemental', that you can control earth and fire and all that, and I've seen you use fire before, so I'm just wondering – what else can you do?"

Well, Stiles had to admit – out of all the responses to their learning his secret, this wasn't one that he thought he would have to deal with for a while.

"Well, um… I guess, I can… I can do some things."

Malia raised an eyebrow, giving him an incredulous and slightly disapproving stare. "Seriously? That's what you're going with? That you can do ' _things_? Come on Stiles, don't bullshit me – I know that you can do more than that, otherwise you and Scott wouldn't be freaking out about us knowing so much."

Sometimes Malia was too smart for her own good. Or for Stiles' good, in this case.

"Well, I mean… I can control the Air, and the – the Earth and Fire. I haven't really figured out how to control Water yet, but… but I probably will, eventually."

"Can you show me?"

Stiles blinked. "What?"

"Can you show me? Like, make fire with your hands, or make it rain, or –."

"Well, actually, uh – I – I can't."

Malia frowned. "What do you mean, you can't? I thought you said –."

"I know, I know, but… well, before, back in Beacon Hills, after Scott and I got back after spring break, there was…." Stiles took a breath. "Ran Gore attacked us, and he tried to take my soul, like he did with you guys – but, well…. It didn't really work, and instead it just sent my powers into chaos and they started acting up, and I couldn't control them, so Deaton had to bind my arms with this rope so that they'd stop –."

Malia gave him a look, one that he couldn't quite decipher, but Stiles had a feeling that it wasn't very good. "A lot of stuff's been going on that you haven't told us, hasn't there?" Stiles remained silent, and Malia eventually rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Whatever. Can I see the ropes?"

Stiles lifted his sleeve slightly, thankful for the shift in focus, and upon seeing the blackened ropes burned into Stiles' red and blistered skin, Malia swore. "Oh shit," she said, her eyes widening in shock. "Is that – why are they – ?"

"The rope binds my powers, but I can still use them a bit. But when Gore tried to attack us, and I stopped him, they… well…" Stiles trailed off, the evidence on his arms speaking for itself.

There was a pause, then Malia asked, "So this all started with Givens? She gave you your powers?"

Stiles quickly shook his head. "No, no. They were already there, I just hadn't realised it; but she knew so she wanted to try and take them, and she figured that keeping me in her house would do the trick. Unlucky for her, I happened to be friends with the True Alpha, so it didn't exactly work out."

They fell into silence, watching as the three werewolves lifted the heavy metal plow and began fastening it to the front of the train. After a few minutes, Malia suddenly spoke: "Hey Stiles?"

"Hm?" Stiles hummed, his eyes drifting to the snow that was beginning to fall faster and heavier with every passing moment.

"Back when we were fighting the witch, Liam said that you helped him get out from under that tree. He made it sound like nothing, but his leg was completely crushed – there's no way that someone with that kind of injury would have been able to get out with just the help of a human. You did something, didn't you? With your powers."

Stiles didn't exactly enjoy talking about that final fight with Givens, the memories of the branches and vines crawling and wrapping around her body before being set alight being all too familiar behind his eye, but he knew that after keeping his powers a secret for so long, he had to at least give Malia something. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I, uh… the tree had fallen on him and I used my powers – the Earth – to lift it off."

Malia stared at him for a long moment, not saying a word, and just as Stiles was ready to make an excuse and get out of this conversation as fast as he could, she spoke: "During the fight, the witch kept asking us for something… something 'blessed', or ' _the_ blessed', whatever that means. Do you…" Her eyes squinted in bemusement. "You don't know what she was talking about, do you? I thought it was just the stupid ramblings of an insane witch, but now…."

Stiles felt his chest grow numb and he fought to keep his face as expressionless as he could.

She had heard that? She remembered Givens asking for the _Blessed_? For him? If she remembered, did that mean Lydia remembered, too? And Kira –

"Stiles?"

Stiles opened his mouth, about to refute the suggestion, the claim, when suddenly a loud rumble sounded nearby, and both Stiles and Malia looked up to see Daniel, Jacob, and Scott inside the engine of the train, broad grins on their faces as the engine of the century-old train came to life. After a few moments black smoke began rising from the pipe, and a few seconds after that the scream of the whistle shrilled through the air.

A wave of relief washed over him and Stiles and the rest of the group quickly made their way over to the train, up the steps, and into the car.

The first part of the train was the enclosed engine, filled with coal which Jacob and Scott were currently shoveling into the fire. The last two cars were mostly empty save for a few seats here and there, which Lydia, Malia, and Liam quickly filled up. After a few minutes Jacob came back, making sure all the doors were closed and everyone was settled.

Stiles made his way to the front of the train, where Scott was just closing the large door of the engine. A few seconds later Stiles felt the entire train jerk, nearly throwing him to the side, before slowly, bit by bit, it began to move. Within minutes they were making their way steadily along the track, picking up speed with every passing moment.

Looking up, Scott shot Stiles a grin. "All aboard?" he asked, setting his shovel to the side and walking up beside him. "I can't believe we're actually getting out of here."

Stiles dug his hands into his jacket, a wry smile pulling at his lips. "Me neither. Seems every time we come to these mountains, it takes going through hell and high water to get out. Almost like it never wants us to leave."

They fell into silence and a few minutes later they made their way back to the carriage that the rest of the group were in. Upon seeing them, Liam spoke up: "Scott, Stiles – we're heading to the east, right? To the Calcraft Pack? Do you know where they are, or do we need to search –."

"I know where they are, pup," Jacob said briskly, and Stiles could practically see Liam's hackles raise in defiance.

"Hey, I'm not a 'pup' –."

"What about Beacon Hills?" Lydia asked suddenly. "We can't just leave everyone to die! We need to get back there, we have to get them out, we have to _help_ them –."

Stiles' thoughts turned back to his home, and he could feel the guilt churning in his chest as he thought of all their friends and everyone at school, of their teachers and all the people of the town. People's souls were already being taken from their bodies, that much he knew; it was the only way that Ran Gore's strength was managing to grow, the only way he was able to now move beyond his mountain. It now wasn't a matter of stopping their souls from being taken, but of freeing their souls back to their bodies before Gore had a chance to feed on them, wherein they would be lost forever – nonexistent. Dead.

An image of his father appeared in his mind, followed by Melissa, and the churning guilt turned into wrenching pain, his heart feeling as though it were being squeezed as his breath caught against the lump that had formed in his throat. Now he would be responsible for the deaths of both his parents, along with Scott's mom – the woman who had become a second mother to him, the woman who had held and taken care of him when his own mother couldn't – because he'd killed her and now he was going to kill Melissa and his father, as though were dedicated to making himself an orphan in every possible way –

Stiles felt an elbow nudge against his side and he looked up to see Scott giving him a look, his stern eyes and tight lips clearly saying _I know what you're thinking – stop it._

Stiles did his best to push the guilt and regret back and to focus on the discussion at hand, of where they would go and what they would do once they got there. They were torn between going back to Beacon Hills and heading straight to the Calcraft Pack, Lydia and Liam arguing strongly for the former, while Malia, Scott, and the last remnants of the Darius Pack arguing for the latter.

Stiles knew that he would have to give his opinion eventually, that he would have to side with Scott and the others and earn Lydia's wrath a second time, but before he could open his mouth the train suddenly gave a shudder, and began to slow. They had been travelling for nearly thirty minutes now, having left the town's borders far behind and now coming up to the bend that would lead them around and up the side of a large, jagged, snow-covered mountain.

Looking out the window, Stiles could see the small edge of the mountain cliff that lay beneath the tracks, and the almost-nauseating ravine that opened into the valley far below.

Trains – just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things he was never going near again.

The group fell into a temporary silence as Daniel and Scott went back to the front to put more coal in the fire. Stiles' gaze turned towards Lydia, who was sitting beside Malia with her hands folded in front of her. She looked as though she were merely waiting for the hours to go by, but Stiles could tell by the way her fingers clung painfully to each other and the strain in her neck, that she was far from okay.

He had to talk to her. And with no place for either of them to run and with countless hours ahead of them, there was no better time than now.

Rising from his seat, Stiles had just begun to move forward when suddenly the train began to shake.

They all looked up, bemused expressions on their faces. The shaking grew stronger and stronger, and for a moment there was only confusion, as everyone tried to figure out what was going on. A few seconds later a deep rumbling began to sound, growing louder and louder with every passing second. It was with horror that Stiles finally realised what it was.

Avalanche.

It was too late to do anything; the rumbling grew into a roar, deafening their ears, just as a great force slammed into the side of the train, knocking everyone who was standing off their feet and sending them flying to the ground. Stiles instinctively covered his head with his arms and a second later he felt himself crash into the side of the train. Shouts and screams rang in his ears before he suddenly heard the shatter of glass, and then everything turned to dark.

* * *

A/N: Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! I'd love to hear from you :)


	18. Chapter 18

When Scott woke, he thought at first that he was in the forest outside Beacon Hills; that he had accidentally fallen asleep in the woods, surrounded by the comforting smell of the earth, encompassed and protected by the tall, unwavering trees.

When he opened his eyes, Scott couldn't understand how he could have ever mistaken his home for this.

Everything was dark, save for the smallest hint of light that beat against the window panes above him. Even with his wolf eyes, Scott had a hard time making out where anything – what anything – was.

Wait… _above_ him. _What the hell?_

Scott blinked, leaning back in confusion as he suddenly became aware of just how wrong everything was. There were a few windows above him that were illuminated slightly with light, but the rest of the windows along the train's side were broken. Snow had poured in, filling the entire train –

Like a knock to the head, Scott suddenly became terrifyingly dizzy, as he finally took in the sight before him.

He was in a train – the train that they were taking to get out of the mountains and escape Ran Gore. It wasn't completely on its side, like he had first thought. Instead it was tilted, sitting at an angle that left Scott pressed against the corner where the wall and side met, the door to the engine room only a few feet away. Snow filled nearly the entire car, sitting only a few feet below the ceiling; it was filled more at the back end, opposite from where Scott was sitting. It tumbled down in a hill about halfway across the car, its edge just barely meeting Scott's legs.

The silence was one that Scott had never heard before; the snow filled absolutely every crevice and void of sound. The only thing that could be heard was Scott's own rapid, shuddering breaths.

Except that wasn't right. There were six others on this train with him, six other breaths that were supposed to be breathing, but they weren't – he couldn't _hear_ –

Like a switch being flipped, Scott shot to his feet, wavering against the tilted floor beneath him as he tried to find his footing, his eyes wide and heart nearly beating through his chest as he finally realised why his were the only breaths being heard.

They were buried. His friends – his _pack_ – they were all buried beneath the avalanche. They were hurt, they were freezing, they were _suffocating_ –

With a jerk, Scott flew forward into the snow, reaching in his hands and digging through it, his nose and ears suddenly on the highest of alert, searching for any hint of scent, for any hint of movement that would tell him where they were, if they were alive, if they were okay –

There was a sudden footstep behind him and Scott started, his neck nearly snapping as he spun around.

Daniel was leaning against the frame of the door that led into the engine room, looking as though he'd gone ten rounds in a boxing match. Deep bags were coloured beneath his eyes and he held his arm close to his chest, which Scott vaguely realised was bent slightly in half. There was another noise from further behind him and Jacob appeared, looking little better than his packmate.

"M… Mc'all," Daniel said, coughing as he struggled to stay standing. After a moment, he tried again. "McCall, are you all right?"

"They're buried," Scott said, not even hearing the other wolf's question. He turned back round and began digging through the snow once more. "All of them. They're all buried beneath the snow, we need… we need to find them. We need to get them out, or else they're going – they're going to _suff_ –."

Jacob pushed past Daniel and came to the edge of the snow, closing his eyes as he grew completely still. After a long moment he opened them, and pointed to a spot a few feet away. "There."

Together they pushed through the snow, tossing it to the side as fast as they could. Scott quickly caught what Jacob had heard – the slow _thump_ _thump thump_ of a heartbeat, which all but sent Scott into a frenzy as he struggled to reach it, as he fought as hard as he could to find them, to save them before – before –

Without warning, the snow gave way to a cascade of hair, which Scott instantly recognised as Lydia's. He immediately began digging around her, until at last he and Jacob were able to pull her free.

Scott brought her over to Daniel, who immediately began looking her over, all but ordering Scott to go back to the snow. Wrenching his eyes away from Lydia's still and ashen face, Scott obeyed.

Even with their werewolf senses and strength, it would take another fifteen minutes at least for him and Jacob to dig through the snow-filled train and locate their friends,. But even though their werewolf and werecoyote strength could keep their bodies alive in the cold, even Liam and Malia couldn't survive without air. Fifteen minutes could be fifteen minutes too late.

And Stiles. He didn't – he didn't know if he could survive this, if who he was – if _what_ he was, meant that he could live without air and surrounded by cold. But none of that mattered, because those damn – those fucking, _damn_ ropes were blocking his powers, so even if he could survive he wouldn't, all because he had to lose control of them, all because Ran Gore had to try and remove his fucking _soul_ , and now as a result he was going to suffocate, he was going to freeze and _die_ –

No. No he wasn't going to think like that. Because if Stiles died, Scott would… he would….

With renewed fervour, Scott started digging through the snow once more.

* * *

Warmth.

It was the first thing he noticed; a heat deep within him, sitting in the centre of his chest, unmoving. For a while, it was all he could feel, it was all he could focus on; a warmth that felt as though it were touching his very soul. It was comforting and soothing, and Stiles didn't think he ever wanted it to leave.

The next thing he noticed was the cold.

His entire body felt as though it had been wrapped in a frozen winter's blanket, numb and tingling with a sensation that felt as though he were being pinpricked on every inch of his skin. He wanted to move, to make the uncomfortable sensation stop, but he couldn't. No matter how hard he turned, no matter how much he tried to move his legs or his arms, they wouldn't budge. It were as though something was pressing down on him from all sides, compressing him, squeezing him, making him completely and utterly immobile and –

With a gasp, Stiles' eyes flew open, only to quickly close as they were met with the harsh and scratching flakes of snow and ice. He spluttered and coughed as snow fell into his mouth, and for a few, long seconds, he felt nothing but pure and utter _panic_.

It took him a moment to realise where he was, but when he did the memories came back to him in a rush.

Ran Gore. The town. The train.

The avalanche.

That's where he was. He was buried beneath an avalanche of snow.

He felt oddly detached from the realisation, as though finding yourself buried alive were an every day occurrence. He knew he should be freaking out, that he should be trying to move and dig himself out, trying to make a pocket of air around his nose and mouth so he could at least _breathe_ , but for some reason he found he just couldn't bring himself to try.

Everyone would've been buried along with him. Lydia, Liam, Malia, the two wolves, Scott. Everyone would be in exactly the same situation he was in – and even the power of a werewolf wouldn't be able to free them from the crushing weight of a mountain of snow.

For the first five minutes, Stiles felt only silence. For all the minutes after that, he could only feel a new weight crushing against his chest – the weight of complete and utter hopelessness. Because Ran Gore had won.

He had done all he could to stop him, he and Scott had fought with every bit of strength that they had, had tried to keep Gore from escaping the mountain and wreaking havoc and death on Beacon Hills, but they had failed. Just like they had failed to save the Colorado Pack, just like they had failed to stop Ran Gore from taking their friends. They had failed, and now they were going to die. They were all doing to die – his friends, his family, his town. All because he and Scott had been stupid enough to wander into an old, forgotten mine, and release a psychopath that had been waiting a century for an fool like him to walk into his prison and break his chains.

Stiles shifted his foot against the snow, trying once more to dig it away, but like before, it had no effect.

Lydia would be the first to go. The others were either werewolves or werecoyotes, and so would at least survive by their internal body-heat alone. But Lydia, despite being supernatural herself, was still very much human – and it wouldn't be long before she succumbed to either hypothermia or suffocation. He could only hope it would be quick.

For everyone else, they would have to wait for death to take them. It was one of the many curses of being a werewolf; death could either be quick and painless, or long and painful. Stiles couldn't help but be glad that, for this case at least, he had never accepted the bite. Although, maybe if he had, he would never have been in this situation to begin with.

Stiles closed his eyes, his muscles relaxing as he stopped fighting against the snow, never hating himself more than he did now.

If only he hadn't lost control of his powers, if only he had been able to hold onto them, if only he'd been able to figure out how to use them – use _all_ of them – then maybe, just maybe, he could have stopped this; maybe he could have stopped Ran Gore long before and saved them all from suffering, saved them all from dying. He could have stopped all of this, if only he hadn't lost control.

But he had, and he did. And now he would die, along with everyone else. His father would die, Melissa would die, everyone in Beacon Hills would die, and it would be all his fault. It would be all his fault and he'd never see his father again; he'd never get a chance to apologise, to explain what had happened with Givens, to explain what he was, to explain _who_ he was –

Something suddenly pulled within Stiles' chest, and he was jarred out of his thoughts as his eyes suddenly snapped back open.

It was only then that Stiles realised that the warmth that had been sitting in the centre of his chest had grown. The cold that had been gnawing at his skin had begun to fade, slowly being replaced with a tingling heat.

But that wasn't what had grabbed Stiles' attention. While the warmth continued to spread, there was another sensation that had begun to pull within him, tugging at his sternum, as though trying to draw him towards something – or someone. He instinctively found himself trying to push away the snow, trying to get to where the feeling was telling him to go. The sensation was strong and familiar, like warm honey on a cool day. It felt like home, it felt like family. It wasn't long before the feeling was replaced with a name.

Scott.

He was somewhere nearby, he was somewhere close – Stiles knew that without a doubt. He was above him, moving, breathing, _alive_ –

A second later Stiles could hear the sound of fingers scraping through the snow, and before he knew what was happening the snow was suddenly being pushed off his chest, and in the next moment there were fingers gripping his jacket, and then they were brushing the snow from his neck, his face, his eyes, and –

The shape of Scott's face was leaning above his own, though Stiles could barely see it in the dark. He could practically feel the alpha's racing heart echoing alongside his own, and he didn't have to see him to know that the werewolf was terrified.

"Stiles?" Scott called, continuing to dig Stiles from the snow. "Stiles, can you hear me? _Stiles!_ "

It suddenly occurred to Stiles to breathe, and with a great gasp he sucked in the air, ignoring the flakes of snow that fell into his lungs.

Stiles watched as a smile of relief spread across Scott's face as he hung his head, a choked laugh falling out of his mouth as the fingers in Stiles' jacket tightened. A moment later Scott was freeing Stiles' arms, and all but hauling him out of the snow and into the open air once more.

It took a moment for him to gather his legs beneath him, but once he did Stiles was finally able to take in the scene around him; the small amount of light seeping through the windows illuminated the shapes and figures of people who were sitting against the wall farthest from the snow. Stiles' eyes fell across each of them in rapid succession, counting each of them in turn – _one, two, three, four, five_ ….

Stiles nearly collapsed as he realised that everyone – each and every one of them – had been pulled out from the snow, that they were alive and breathing and –

"…iles, are you hurt?"

Stiles' attention turned back to Scott and he quickly nodded, doing his best to make sure Scott was okay as well. Licking his cracked lips, he asked, "Is – is everyone all right? Lydia, is she –."

"She's fine, they're all fine. We got them out in time, we got all of them out –."

"Stiles?"

Stiles' eyes snapped towards Lydia, whose shadowed form was slowly rising to its feet. Stiles quickly stumbled his way over to the rest of the group and pulled Lydia into a hug. He gave a hug to Malia as well.

After a few minutes of checking each other over and making sure they were all okay, everyone finally began to take in their surroundings. Daniel and Scott began suggesting what they could do, if it'd be possible to dig themselves out and make a tunnel to the surface. Scott argued to try and get out, while Daniel contended that it'd be safer where they were, that at least they were out of the elements and away from the wind and cold. Malia voiced her opinion then, stating that it wouldn't matter if they were in the wind and cold, if they all were going to end up dying from starvation, first.

They all began arguing then, voices raised over one another as the gravity of their situation truly began to set in. Stiles knew he should be arguing with them, that he should be backing Scott because Malia was right, it was better to die out there where they could at least try to run, rather than wait for their deaths in here, trapped in the cold and the dark and –

Trapped.

Stiles felt his chest begin to constrict.

They were trapped. Just like before, in the mountain. They were buried beneath endless snow, unable to move, unable to get out. It was the mine all over again. It was claustrophobia and panic and walls closing in and darkness and cold and –

"What about the train?" Lydia asked angrily. "Can't we get it started again? We still have coal, more than enough; we should at least try to light it, and –."

"The hell are you on about?" Jacob snapped at her. "Do you seriously believe we can get the train moving? We're buried beneath a ton of snow!" Liam stepped forward and Malia's eyes narrowed in a glare at his tone, but he ignored them and continued, his voice strained in fear and anger. "It doesn't matter if we have coal or not. Nothing can get us moving again. We're finished. Even if we managed to get a fire going, there's no place for it to go – we'd all just end up dying from the smoke!"

"What if we managed to dig it out, then?" Scott asked, trying to defuse the situation. "What if we were able to get to the top of the avalanche and dig the engine out? Could we get the train moving, then?"

"You'd have to get the engine hotter than the blazes of hell and damnation to do that, and even then it probably wouldn't move. We don't even have anything to make a fire with. It's a pipe dream."

Jacob shook his head, a snarl of disdain forming on his lips. "Just face it McCall, it's hopeless. We're all going to die here, and it'll it be all thanks to you. You and that god-forsaken _Blessed_. If you had never stepped foot in these mountains, this never would have happened. It's because of you that we're stuck here; it's because of you that Darius and my entire pack are _dead._ We never should have saved you. We should have just let you both die out there. It would have been a good riddance for us all. If I had known what trouble he would have caused us, I would have killed the _Blessed_ _myself_ –."

There was a growl and Scott's eyes flashed red, and suddenly voices were shouting again as both werewolves lunged at each other, claws and hands outstretched. Daniel grabbed hold of Jacob while Liam and Malia grabbed Scott, and for a few moments there was nothing but shouts and noise as everyone fought.

The ropes along his arms began to burn, and just as Stiles was about to yell out, Daniel's voice suddenly intervened: " _ENOUGH!_ "

Everyone stopped what they were doing and Daniel wrenched Jacob from the thrall, shoving him to the side. He spun back around to the rest of the group, a furious snarl pulled at his lips. "Fighting won't do us any good! We'll only end up screwing ourselves over more than we already are." There was a pause, then, "None of it will matter anyway. Even if we do make it out, we'll never escape in time before Ran Gore finds us." He shook his head, stepping back towards Jacob. "We've done all we could to stop Ran Gore. Our fight is over. Now it is better to live our last hours in peace, rather than battle."

Everyone was silent, unable to reply because they knew that Daniel was right. They had done everything they could think of to stop Gore from escaping, from terrorizing Beacon Hills and taking their souls, but now it was over. They had lost.

"Be thankful," Daniel said, nodding towards Lydia, Malia, and Liam. "At least your lives will end quickly, rather than living out the rest of your existence waiting for Gore to feed on your soul." With those words, Daniel leaned against the side of the car and sank to the floor.

* * *

Stiles had thought he knew the word "hopeless". He thought he'd been well acquainted with it over the past three years, on more occasions than he would have ever liked. He thought he knew what it was like to be completely trapped, with no hope of ever finding a way out. He thought he had experienced all of the mental and internal anguish of fear and torment that he would ever be capable of experiencing.

But he'd been wrong.

Sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, the rest of the group spread across the floor of the train in silence, Stiles now knew what it meant to feel truly hopeless. His eyes watched absently as Scott and Liam were trying to dig a tunnel through the snow that had broken through the window, but every few minutes the tunnel would collapse, and more snow would end up pouring into the train, leaving them no further than where they had been before. Daniel was standing nearby, watching them with his arms crossed, a look of despondency set across his face.

Stiles' eyes fell over to Malia, who was watching the boys with furrowed brows and clenched teeth, her foot tapping ceaselessly against the snow-covered floor. Lydia on the other hand was completely still, her eyes staring unseeingly off into the distance. Stiles wondered if she could sense anything, if she could feel the coming death that was nearing them all. Part of him wanted to ask, the other part of him didn't want to know a single thing.

His thoughts drifted back to when he'd been buried, when he'd thought for sure that death was just a few seconds away, when he'd cursed himself for not being stronger than he had been, for having lost control of his powers and making himself more useless than when he'd ever been human. Except that he'd never really been human, and that was really the whole crux of this – wasn't it?

He wondered how long his father would survive, until his soul was taken. He wondered if he was worrying about him, or if he was too busy taking care of the people that were undoubtedly in the process of losing their lives, falling to the ground where they stood as Gore took their souls and sucked them into his body. He wondered if Melissa was okay, if she was still helping the countless patients that were bursting from the hospital's seams, or if she was now one of them herself. Maybe her soul was already in Gore's emerald, now laying above his cold, frozen heart.

He could think of a thousand ways that all of this could have been avoided, how he could have stopped this from happening, how he could have saved both Beacon Hills and the Colorado Pack. He could have chosen not to go with Scott; he could have figured out that the letter was a fake, he could have stayed away from the mountain when he'd first felt its darkness –

But that didn't matter. Not now. Not anymore. He had tried to run from Ran Gore, had tried to save his friends and family, but he'd failed. He'd failed, and now it was time to accept the consequences. He wouldn't fight it. Whatever prophecy there had been, whoever or whatever he was supposed to be, it wouldn't matter now. It was over. He was finished. They were all finished. Gore had won.

Stiles wasn't sure when he had started, but he eventually found himself rubbing his thumb against the fabric of his jacket, absently moving it across the hard shard of glass beneath. Stiles' thoughts suddenly turned to Alayna.

That's right. He had told her he was going to save her, that he'd find a way to get her out of her dying world, but he'd been wrong. He had lied. Now she would wait, hoping for his return, hoping that she would be rescued, only for it to be in vain. She would die, along with everyone else, and she would die with hope on her breath. Stiles had bound David's soul to the shard, hoping that the creator of the world would keep it alive long enough for him to find a way to save them, but it wouldn't matter now. David's soul was dying, that was something Stiles could not change. And the moment he did, his daughter would die with him. Stiles could only hope that their last moments would be together.

David had fought so hard to save his daughter. Alayna had fought so hard to save her father, to save her entire town, but she too had failed. To the bitter end they had fought, until they couldn't fight any longer. Even when there was no hope, David had kept fighting, had made one last move, had made a world for his daughter to hide in so that her life could be spared. And it had worked, for a time. Until now. Until Stiles.

His own dad was probably fighting, too. No, he _was_ fighting – Stiles knew that without a doubt. Even if he was sicker than anyone else, his dad would never stop trying to save everyone he could. He would never give up. He would drag people to the hospital if he had to, he'd give them whatever medical care he could where they lay, if it meant that they'd have just one more chance, just one last hope….

Melissa would be fighting, as well. She loved her patients too much, she loved Beacon Hills too much. She spent every day of her life fighting to save the lives of others; there was just no way that she would ignore someone's cries for help, let go of someone's dying hand, if it meant that she could be with them until the end, if it meant that somehow, someway, she could pull them back from the brink, that she could spare someone's suffering and grief. Stiles had always known where Scott had gotten his gentle and compassionate heart from, there had never been any doubt.

Scott was a fighter, too. That was evident enough from what he was doing now – ceaselessly digging through the snow, trying to find one last way out, doing everything he could to save them from certain death while the rest of them sat by, having given up long ago. But Scott refused to give up. He'd do anything, even run himself to his own death, if it meant that he could save his friends.

Stiles paused.

His eyes fell to his arms and his heart skipped a beat.

Looking up, Stiles' eyes flickered over to the doorway, where the engine room sat in darkness just beyond. His eyes turned back to his arms and he swallowed, his fingers giving a silent twitch.

Everyone he knew and loved were fighters, were fighting and would continue fighting until the very end. Even if it cost them their own life, they would keep on fighting, they would never give up hope. Hope was what fed armies, what carried battles, and what won wars. Hope was dangerous. But it was also fleeting, and easily lost. And he, he didn't know if… if….

The shard of glass warmed against the inside of his jacket, and Stiles' eyes landed on Scott's back once more.

Perhaps… perhaps he could do something. Maybe… maybe there was still time, maybe there was still a way….

An image of Gore's twisted, triumphant smile and manic, laughing eyes formed in Stiles' mind, and Stiles' fingers closed into fists, his muscles pressing beneath the binding ropes.

No. He wasn't going to give up. If he was going to die, then he would die fighting. He would die doing everything he could to save his friends.

Everything.

Rising to his feet, Stiles slowly began dragging himself across the car, passing through the door and into the engine room, unaware of the pair of eyes that followed him as he went.

He made his way across the floor to the engine itself, tripping over the scattered coal until he finally made it to the iron door. He dropped to his knees and without a second thought, gripped the handles and wrenched the door open.

The space inside the engine was cold and dark, not a flicker of flame to be seen. Slowly, bit by bit, Stiles began to remove his jacket. A few moments later it was gone, and nothing but his shirt and the ropes around his arms remained.

His eyes stared fixedly on the blackened ropes, which twisted and criss-crossed their way from the ends of his wrists and up along his forearms, over his biceps and around his shoulders. With a deep breath, Stiles edged his thumb beneath the knot on his left wrist, then stopped.

Memories of the last time he'd done this flashed through his mind, of the power that had coursed through his body, of the control he'd tried so hard to maintain but lost, of the chaos of elements that had felt as though they were tearing through his entire body, taking over him and blinding him, leading him to fight against Scott, unable to listen to reason, to anything –

The power had felt good; it was a taste of something that for a moment, Stiles hadn't wanted to give up. He had craved it. He had lusted for it. And lust was a frightening thing. Lust was not simply a desire, it was a desire that could never be saturated, it was a desire that could never be filled. Lust was something that, no matter how much you fed it, you would always want more. And the thought of having that within him, terrified him.

But fear could be just as bad as chaos. And he wasn't going to let either of them control him anymore.

Tugging against the knot, Stiles pulled it free and slowly began unravelling the rope.

Pressure quickly began to push against his chest, but Stiles pushed back. With a focus and determination that he didn't know he had, he continued to unravel the rope, all the while refusing to let the ever-growing chaos of the elements break from his hold.

Eventually his left arm was entirely free and Stiles quickly began working on the next. In a few moments his right arm was free as well. He pulled the rope from around his shoulders, and with a quiet thud it fell to the floor in a heap.

He could feel all of them – Air, Earth, Fire, even Water. They were all swirling within him, crashing into each other, trying to release themselves, but Stiles refused to let them go. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding the elements back with all the strength he had.

He could feel the fire trying to burn itself from his arms, the air around him pulling taut, electricity crackling around him every few seconds. The entire room felt as though it were standing on the edge of a knife, a precipice, ready – and trying – to break and fall as fast as it could. The pain was suddenly enormous; it felt as though he were being torn apart from within, and for a moment all he wanted to do was scream.

But Stiles fought back. He gritted his teeth, pushing the elements back, refusing, no – _demanding_ – that they back down, and that they listen to him.

 _They would listen to him now._

Eventually, after what felt like an age, the torrent began to abate, and ever so slowly the pain fell away, until, like a lock sliding into place, the elements calmed.

Opening his eyes, Stiles stared into the engine, and with a deep breath he shoved his arms and upper body inside.

It was completely dark, and all Stiles could hear was silence.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, he reached for the element of Fire. He felt it begin to sear through his arms, but rather than pain, he only felt power. Its heat ran along his shoulders and down his body, warming him and giving him a strength that he hadn't realised he'd been missing – that he hadn't realised he'd forgotten.

Grasping the Fire once more, flames began to flicker along his arms and fingers, suddenly lighting up the entire space around him, expelling every last shadow from every corner and crevice. Then, with one last breath, Stiles closed his eyes and let go.

Fire erupted, filling the entire engine and escaping into the room. It exploded, and with a great roar it rushed throughout the entire train, wrapping itself over each and every car and along the mountainside.

In a matter of seconds, the snow was gone. The avalanche that had poured into the carriage and buried them beneath it melted and dissipated into the air, leaving not a single trace behind.

The fire crashed through the train like a tidal wave, rushing and swirling around every person like an ocean's crash. But it didn't burn any of them, and before either of them had even any time to think, let alone react, the fire had disappeared – leaving them stunned and confused, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Light from the outside had filled the train once more, and it was then that everyone was able to see through the windows just what sort of state they were really in.

The car they were in had been pushed halfway onto its side, the upright engine the only thing keeping them from falling over completely. The carriage behind them had completely fallen over and the final carriage behind that – and what was most terrifying of all – had fallen off the tracks completely, and was now hanging off the side of the mountain, held on only by the single latch to the carriage in front of it.

Malia's single voice broke the silence. "What the _hell_ –."

Scott's eyes scanned the carriage, falling over each of the group, and it was then that he realised what had happened. He fell over his feet as he ran to the door to the engine, all but screaming Stiles' name. _"STILES!"_ What he saw made his heart lurch in his chest.

Stiles was leaned halfway into the train's engine, which was now covered in flame as fire roared from within. The fire swept down his back and around his legs, and for a moment Scott felt nothing but pure panic, as he thought for certain that Stiles was burning alive. But then suddenly it clicked, and Scott could only stand and stare in disbelief as he realised what had happened.

A few moments later Stiles leaned back out of the engine and shut the door, the fire continuing to rage and roar within. He pushed himself back to his feet and turned around, his eyes meeting Scott's.

At first they could only stare at each other, and then slowly a smile began to spread across Scott's face, as the fear and panic he had been feeling before was replaced with shocked elation. "Stiles," he said, the words catching in his throat. "Stiles, you – you –." His eyes fell to the ropes on the floor and Stiles' bare arms, before lifting back up. "The ropes – your arms, you –."

"Stiles!"

Scott turned around to see Malia and Lydia behind him, Liam, Jacob, and Daniel standing further to the back. All their eyes held the same shock and relief that Scott was feeling, and he quickly turned back to Stiles – to the elemental – unable to contain the joy that had suddenly filled his entire body. "Stiles, I can't believe – your powers, you did –."

A loud creak echoed throughout the train followed by a deep groan, and the floor beneath them gave a sudden, terrifying lurch, and the cars behind them began to move. It took Scott a moment, but he eventually realised what was happening – with no snow to weigh the train down, the carriages that had already fallen over the mountain's edge were now starting to drag the rest of the train down with them.

Scott's eyes met Lydia's, which were staring back at him, wide and terrified. Then suddenly, before either of them could say a word, Stiles was pushing past them and through the rest of the group, running to the back of the car. He threw open the door and it was then that everyone could see the carriage behind them start to twist from its side onto its roof, pulling the carriage they all were in over with it. Then, just as they were about to tip over, the train's windows falling over the mountain's edge, Stiles threw out his hand.

A great roar of wind began to sound, echoing off the mountains as it ran along the side of the train. The trees in the valley below all bent over as the wind rushed over them and up the mountain's side.

Lydia could see the edge of the last carriage that was dangling off the mountain begin to rise; then suddenly the car behind them began to move, creaking and groaning as it started to lift, rising and tilting until suddenly it was standing upright once more. Their own car moved back, and they fell back onto the tracks with a thud. Wind and the sound of metal sliding against metal screamed around them as the last of the trains slid back onto the tracks, and then everything was still. A few moments of silence passed, no one moving a muscle, all eyes on the person before them. At last Stiles' arm fell to his side, and he leaned heavily against the door.

The train's whistle suddenly shrilled loudly, making Scott jump, and Daniel immediately moved past him and into the engine room. Jacob turned to follow him, catching Scott's eye and raising his eyebrows. "Well looks like your _Blessed_ has some use after all."

Scott felt a flare of annoyance but he ignored the werewolf, choosing instead to step forward as Stiles turned round and began walking towards them. They met halfway and Scott grabbed him in a hug, squeezing and slapping his back, unable to contain the joy that was pouring from every bit of his being. "I knew you could do it." He grabbed Stiles' shoulders and pushed him back so he could look at him. He couldn't help but laugh, hitting his shoulder again. "I knew you could do it! I knew it!" He took a step back as the rest of their pack came towards them.

"Damn, Stiles," Liam acknowledged, staring at the elemental with slightly wide eyes. "That was – I mean, uh… that was a pretty cool thing you did there."

"I can't believe you've kept this a secret for so long," Malia complained, looking caught between anger and excitement, as though unsure whether she should chew Stiles out more for not having told them about his powers, or whether to express her awe and thrill over what he'd done. With a punch to his arm followed by a hug, she decided to do both.

Stiles couldn't stop the smile from tugging at his lips as Malia described the fire that had torn through the train but hadn't burned, asking him every few seconds if he was sure that was him that had done it.

The train suddenly jerked forward and Daniel appeared, telling them that, thanks to the blazing fire in the engine and sudden absence of snow, the train was working and able to move once more. They would be able to make it through the mountains and to the valleys beyond after all.

Everyone was thrilled. They were going to make it – they were going to escape. They stood another chance against Ran Gore; they could stop him, they could save their friends, their families – they could save all of Beacon Hills.

As Scott moved past to make his way to the front of the train, Stiles' eyes fell on Lydia, who was standing slightly off to the side. The smile on his lips faded as their eyes met; her expression was unreadable, her lips pressed in a quiet line as her eyes stared unflinchingly into Stiles'. The need to talk with her was more apparent than ever.

A low rumbling began to sound through the air around them, heavy and deep, shaking the train. For a brief moment the thought of another avalanche flashed behind his eyes and Stiles' heart lurched in fear, but then something shifted in the back of his mind and he turned, his eyes staring through the ceiling of the carriage as he focused on the movement outside. Like a ripple, the shift reverberated through the air before passing over Stiles, and his muscles tightened as he immediately recognised the feeling.

Spinning his head around, Stiles' saw Scott, who was standing in the doorway at the other end of the car, his own dark, narrowed eyes glaring through the ceiling as well. He looked down and met Stiles' gaze, and he could practically hear his voice speaking inside his head: _Ran Gore_.

The rumbling grew louder and it was then that the others began to notice something was wrong. Stiles watched as Scott turned around and stepped back into the engine room. A moment later the sound of a whistle could be heard, and Stiles could feel the train begin to gain speed.

Seeing Malia and Lydia's worried faces, Stiles tried to ease their fears: "We'll make it," he said firmly. "The edge of the mountains isn't far now; as soon as we pass it we'll be safe. Gore can't make it past the mountain boundary, not yet. He can only go so far. We're almost there, only twenty-three more minutes. Just hold on."

"How do you know?"

Stiles' eyes fell to Lydia, who was staring at him intently, not a single emotion on her face as she waited for Stiles to respond. Stiles tried to answer the question as best he could. "Because he's bound to the mountains. Once we're past them, there's no way that he can –."

"No," Lydia interrupted, tilting her head up from the seat in which she was sat. "I mean how do you know it'll only be twenty-three more minutes before we get out of the mountains? That's a pretty precise time; how do you know it for sure? Or are you just bullshitting us? You seem to have a better knack for that than I thought you did."

And there it was.

Stiles was silent for a moment, unable to think of a response. How could he explain to her that the reason he knew it would only be twenty-three – twenty-two, now – more minutes, was because he could feel the earth rushing past beneath him, could feel the rocks and dirt and mountains surrounding them, could tell just how far each was from where he stood, how the edge of the mountain range was quickly rising to meet them? How could he explain any of it without causing her to –

It seemed the others were just as aware of the coming fight between them and were as unenthusiastic to see it arrive as Stiles was.

"Lydia," Malia said, all but glaring at the other girl. "I swear, if you start this now after we've just escaped certain death for like, the _billionth_ time – only this time it was a hell of a lot _more_ certain – I swear I'll slap you in the face. We haven't even made it to safety yet, and you're trying to have this out _now_?"

Lydia glared back at the werecoyote. "Malia, stay out of this. If I want to bring this up, then I'm _going_ to bring this up –."

"If you start this now, I will throw you off this train myself!" Malia growled. "Just suck in your pride and hurt feelings for the next twenty minutes, that's all I ask. After that, you can go after him all you want. Heck, I might even join you."

Lydia let out a quiet huff, clenching her jaw, but she kept her mouth closed and didn't say a word in response. She gave a final disapproving glare to Stiles, then turned away.

Stiles clenched his own teeth and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Perfect. Just perfect. Now he really couldn't wait to escape.

Another pulse, more powerful than the last, almost knocked Stiles off his feet and onto the floor. The train screeched and shuddered, shaking violently back and forth. Stiles immediately grabbed hold of the air and steadied the carriages, bringing everything to a still once more. He could feel Gore's power trying to press against the train, the edges of his fingertips brushing against the carriage's sides, trying to grab hold and pull it back, trying to keep it from leaving the mountains, trying to kill them one last time.

Stiles' eyes remained fastened to the door at the end of the car as people moved around him and as voices were raised in alarm. He could vaguely hear Scott trying calm them down, arguing with Jacob once more as Daniel continued to press the train forward as fast as he could.

They would make it, Stiles knew they would. It was only fifteen more minutes now until they reached the mountains' edge, and he could feel where Gore was, how far he was behind them. There was no way that he'd be able to reach them in time. They'd made it – they were safe. They had escaped.

Stiles' eyes continued to remain on the door.

He seemed to spend so much of his life running; running from werewolves, running from the supernatural, running from Givens, running from Ran Gore. But running was good – it was necessary; it had saved him and others more times than he could count. And now, it had saved them again.

But Stiles couldn't look away from the door.

Then, after a long moment, he began to move.

Stepping along the aisle, Stiles silently opened the back door, stepping out onto the deck and shutting it tightly behind him.

He stood by the railing at the back of the train for a long moment, the wind whipping across his face and through his hair as he stared out into the void of the white; the blizzard continued to scream around the train and through the mountains, and Stiles' eyes landed on a spot off into the distance. He stared at it for a long moment, unmoving. Then, stepping to the stairway's edge, he took a breath.

He wasn't running anymore.

Stiles jumped.

* * *

A/N: Please check out my friend's work, Monomania! (by EmotionalTether!) It is absolutely fantastic - I'm sure you guys will love it :D

ALL RIGHT! We are NEARLY there! Just a couple chapters left. Thank you all for your patience, and to everyone who left a review. You guys are amazing.

Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time - I'd love to hear from you!


	19. Chapter 19

It felt as though someone had taken a handful of his insides and simply _pulled_ , punching the air out of his lungs.

Scott spun around amongst the hurried and excited conversations of his friends, his eyes immediately latching to the door on the other end of the carriage. Taking a quick look around, it took him only half a second to realise what had happened.

Scott pushed through the pack and ran to the door, breaking one of the hinges as he threw it open. He stepped out into the howling wind and snow, running to the train's edge and grabbing onto the railing, leaning over as he stared into the void.

Stiles was gone. He'd left.

He was going to fight Ran Gore.

Scott wasn't sure he'd ever been more terrified than he was now.

* * *

Stiles strove through the snow, slowly making his way up the mountain side. The wind that had been screaming around him before had died away, and though the snow was up to his waist, not a bit of it hindered his movements; instead, if anything, climbing a mountain had never been so easy.

All he could think about was getting to the top of the mountain peak. There, he would be able to see across the entire valley and surrounding mountains, and he'd be able to cast out his senses and determine where Ran Gore actually was – and hopefully provide a beacon through which he could draw him out.

As he continued to walk, Stiles became vaguely aware that the snow had started to melt, and was now running down the mountainside in ever-growing streams. The snow falling around him had lessened as well and suddenly he as able to make out the trees in the distance, along with the pale sky that was slowly appearing behind the thinning clouds. Stiles pushed the changing weather to the back of his mind and continued to walk, refusing to stop until he reached the mountaintop.

Just over ten minutes had passed when Stiles broke through the treeline and began making his way up the rock-face. It was as he was walking that he began to realise that the stone beneath him was shifting; that with every movement he made, the earth moved with him – growing and shrinking to fit each step he took. But Stiles had no time to wonder at it.

He could feel him in the background, could sense his presence, like a weight pressing against him – never growing, but never fading, simply there. Waiting.

Waiting for him.

Stiles eventually made it to the mountaintop a few minutes later and he came to a stop, taking a few deep, heavy breaths as he finally took a look around.

It was one of the surreal sights he'd ever seen. The low white-clouds of snow had been pushed aside in a perfect circle, nearly three miles out from where he now stood; he could see their tops, swirling into each other as the blizzard continued to rage beneath. He could just make out the falling snow that roared through the trees, making it impossible to see beyond. But then the blizzard simply came to a stop, as though it were hitting a wall. From that point the ground was void of snow, the grass standing completely still.

The pale sky that he had glimpsed before was now gone, replaced instead with dark-grey clouds that stood high above him. Thunder rumbled low within it, echoing around him; he could feel its energy in his body, electricity crackling through his bones and skin, the growing-storm's strength slowly starting to feed into his own.

Gore's presence suddenly washed over him and with a crack like a whip, a crash of wind and rushing water could suddenly be heard. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw something coming straight towards him, and without a second thought he threw up his hands.

The torrent of water broke over him with a strength that nearly knocked Stiles off his feet. He maintained his foothold, however, digging his feet into the ground as the water roared all around him. When the attack ended, Stiles barely had time to lower his hands before something suddenly crashed into him and sent him nearly flying off the mountain's edge.

Quickly getting back to his feet, Stiles watched as a cascade of water appeared in front of him, disappearing a few seconds later to reveal Ran Gore standing in its place.

Gore smiled at Stiles, his eyes dark. "Well, well. I didn't think I would see you again so soon, _Blessed_. Here I thought I would have to start absorbing your town's souls before you would finally decide to give me your own."

All the muscles in Stiles' body tensed, his fingers clenching at his side, his eyes never leaving the other man's form.

"It could have been so much simpler, you know," Gore continued. "If you had just given me your soul when I'd first asked for it, none of this would have had to happen. Your soul could have fed me for two-hundred years! Your friends and family would have been long gone before I needed to feed again. But no – you insisted on running away! And now it is your town – and many more to come – that will pay for your decision."

The thunder that had been rumbling above them suddenly cracked, booming loudly throughout the valleys and the mountains. Stiles felt the electricity course through his body like fire; he could practically feel it in the clouds and in the air, its power and energy waiting to be released. As the thunder boomed a second time, Stiles' hand reached above him, latching onto the energy and pulling it down from the sky.

A bolt of lightning shot through the air, lighting up the sky before colliding with Ran Gore, exploding on the mountaintop in a burst of dirt and stone.

When the dust and smoke cleared, it revealed only emptiness in its place. Before Stiles could react, he was suddenly thrown to the side by another gush of water. However, instead of a waterfall, this time it was shaped like a wave – crashing into his side and sending him skidding across the mountaintop, knocking the wind from his lungs. He was about to be nearly thrown off the side once again, when suddenly the ground rose up, creating a barrier and bringing him to a stop, just as he reached the mountain's edge.

"Though I really must thank you," Gore said, raising his palms to the sky. "For you are the one that brought me to this point – you are the one that made all of this possible. If not for your naivety, if not for your witless trust in others – you would have known that the creature which scratched and poisoned you was sent by me; you would have never drank the water that my wolf gave you. And if it hadn't been for your friends and the True Alpha, it would have worked – your soul would have been mine, and then we wouldn't have to be standing here, having this discussion, now would we?"

Stiles rose to his feet, his bloodied fingers scraping against the rock and dirt. Gore smiled at him, looking for all the world like a triumphant king sitting on his throne. Stiles' blood began to boil.

Another tidal wave of water started rushing towards him and Stiles held out his hands, trying to grasp onto the element and throw it back towards Ran Gore, but like all the other times he'd tried to control Water, it remained just out of reach.

He could hear Gore's laughter as the water crashed over him, colliding straight into his face. He spluttered and coughed, trying to gasp for breath, but the water refused to move, its force nearly crushing him into the ground as it tried to drown him. He finally grabbed onto the Earth and created a wall between him and the water, bringing the onslaught to an end. Once the water disappeared, the barrier fell away into dust and Stiles collapsed back onto the ground, gasping for breath.

Gore's laughter continued to ring loudly in his ears. "You've made it far, _Blessed_. That, I will give to you. But after all that I heard of you, after all that was foretold, I must say – you truly are a _disappointment_. I mean, you were said to be the most powerful elemental that had ever lived, and yet you cannot even control _Water_!"

Another whirlpool appeared right above him, shooting down from the sky and heading straight towards him. At the last second Stiles heaved a breath and spun on his side, rolling across the dirt just as the water crashed into the ground.

"But then again, Water is _my_ domain. I've always had a knack for it, ever since I was a child. And then when I gained my immortality, well…. I've had over a hundred and forty years to master it, and I assure you, I don't intend to give it up any time soon."

Stiles stumbled back to his feet and without a word he threw out his hands, sending a rush of wind surging towards Ran Gore. The man smirked and stood his ground, not moving an inch as the air lashed out towards him. It collided with him with a resounding crack, and for a moment Gore looked surprised as he started to move towards the edge of the mountain. Stiles poured the wind forward, its power thrumming through his veins as he tried to break Gore's hold and send him over the mountain's edge.

But even as Gore continued to be pushed, his face never changed. He spread his own arms and Stiles suddenly felt his feet begin to slide in the dirt as he was slowly pushed back. Gritting his teeth, Stiles strengthened his hold on the wind and pressed back once more.

The two were held in a standstill for what seemed like an age, both of them refusing to let go. A tirade of wind and water swirled around them as thunder cracked loudly from above, but Stiles was barely aware of it, his entire focus placed on the man that was standing before him.

Out of nowhere, Stiles suddenly felt a rush of water slam into his side, knocking him off his feet. The tension of the air broke and he was thrown back like a whip, heading straight for the mountain's edge. At the last moment a waterfall suddenly crashed over him, sending him surging to the ground where he collided into the rock and stone with a bang.

It took him a moment to open his eyes, the air having been knocked out of his lungs and everything feeling like fog. A moment later his vision was obscured by the form of Ran Gore, who was standing over him with the same smirk that he had been wearing since their fight began. Stiles struggled to get to his feet, to move out of the way, but then a pillar of water suddenly appeared, pushing relentlessly against his chest, as though trying to push him into the ground. Stiles heaved for breath as the water pressed against his lungs, crushing him. He could do nothing as Gore started to slowly circle around him.

"After I am finished here, I will go on to the next hapless town, infecting each man, woman, and child, and taking their souls one by one. And then I will move onto the next, and the next, and the next. I will live forever, and I will be the most powerful man on the face of this earth. No human or creature will be able to defeat me, no _Blessed_ or True Alpha will ever stand in my way again. Not even the coming _Darkness_ will overcome me."

Stiles tried once more to grab hold of the water that was above him, to take hold of its power and bring it under his control, but like oil, it continued to slip through his grasp.

Gore seemed unaware of Stiles' attempts to free himself and he continued to speak, but Stiles pushed his voice into the background, closing his eyes and focusing on nothing but the elements that were churning within him. The fire that had been burning in his chest began to grow cold, a new heat taking its place. Stiles could feel the freezing burn start to creep behind his eyes, and without warning his eyes snapped back open.

Crackling and snapping began to sound as the pillar of water began to turn to ice. In a matter of seconds the pillar had become a frozen sculpture, hanging in midair. In the next second Stiles lifted his hands and pressed them against the ice. The pillar immediately shattered into a thousand pieces, exploding in each and every direction.

Stiles immediately got back to his feet, and when the air cleared he could finally see Ran Gore again, a thrill of satisfaction running through his veins at what he saw.

Gore was standing near the opposite edge of the mountaintop, staring in stunned disbelief as shards of ice lay pierced in his skin, stabbing through his chest, arms, legs, and even his neck. Blood ran in a myriad of streams down his body, soaking his clothes and pooling on the ground beneath his feet.

Before Stiles could make his next move, Gore's look of surprise abruptly faded, replaced instead with a sneer of fury. The ice immediately began melting into water, washing over his body as he slowly spread his arms. "You will pay for that, child."

But Stiles was ready this time.

Throwing his arms open, he grabbed hold of the air, taking every molecule and compressing them together until they were wrapping around Gore's body and squeezing against it with all their strength. The skin in Gore's face and neck began to ripple as the pressure pushed against him, trying to crush him, but he pushed back against it, refusing to back down. Stiles' fingers drew closer and closer into a fist as he increased the pressure, but still, Gore refused to budge. Finally, with a wave of Gore's arms, the pressure broke, rippling back through the air with a snap, leaving them standing in silence once more.

Anger surged in Stiles' chest, and the words were leaving his mouth before he even had time to think: "Why are you doing this?! You got what you wanted, you got out of the mountain and you got everyone's souls – so why won't you stop?! Why won't you fucking _stop_?!"

Gore's laughter resounded across the mountaintop, low and deep. He lowered his gaze and caught Stiles' eyes with his own. "I think you know the answer to that already, _Blessed_. I told you – your refusal to give up your soul has resulted in the loss of the souls of your friends and family. If you had just listened to me when we first met, none of this would have happened."

Something was eating away at the back of Stiles' mind, like a leech suckling at the skin, latched on and unable to be pried away no matter what Gore said. Stiles frowned at the older man, shaking his head. "No. No, that's not it."

"I assure you, dear boy, it is."

But with every passing second, Stiles became more certain that there was something else going on than what Gore was telling him. But what was it?

Gore had escaped his mountain, he had escaped his prison – that was all he had really wanted. That, and revenge. He was petty and bitter, holding grudges and refusing to let them go, like a dog with a bone. Stiles had escaped him more than once, yes – but was that enough to send him into a tailspin? Was that enough to keep him here, in the mountains, when he was now free to roam practically wherever he wanted? Yes, he still needed a few more souls before he was truly able to leave, but those were practically in the bag – the souls of the people in Beacon Hills were already held in his necklace, they were constantly arriving and being absorbed into the emerald – so why did Gore stay here? Why did he chase after them, relentless, as they escaped the mountains? Why didn't he just lay low and wait for the rest of the souls to arrive? What was he going to do with all that power, once he had it?

He claimed he wanted it, he claimed that power and immortality was all that he ever wanted – but why? The desire for immortality, he could understand; heck, even the desire for power was something Stiles had tasted before. But the way Gore spoke about it, the way he longed for it, the way he wanted more even when he was already winning, when he had already won – there had to be something driving him. Something more than just inane, petty, childish want. Something that was pushing him, urging him, manipulating him –

Stiles' breath hitched.

His eyes turned back to Gore – to Jacobson. To Tristan Jacobson, a man who had been only a man until someone made him not. Until someone made him something more. Until someone dangled the promise of power and immortality in front of him, and took his soul, instead.

And then suddenly, it clicked.

Straightening his back, Stiles looked at Gore as though seeing him for the first time. "You didn't mean to sell your soul," he said slowly, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with each word he spoke. "That man – that man who gave you your power, who made you immortal – you didn't know that he was going to imprison you, that you were going to lose your soul. You thought you were being given a free ride. But that wasn't what that guy was doing, that wasn't what he'd ever _meant_ to do…."

Stiles blinked, thoughts rushing through his mind as he realised that Gore – Jacobson – hadn't been the one who started this. He hadn't been the one who started any of it. It had been someone else –

A rush of water suddenly slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling over the mountain's edge. At the last second he grabbed onto the Earth and the mountain shifted, rock extending from its side to break his fall. Gore appeared above him, his mouth set deep in a dark frown, and a tidal wave of water appeared before him, circling a few times in a whirlpool before heading straight towards him. Stiles immediately spun to his side once more, disappearing along the mountain's side. He stepped over rock and air as he ran around the mountaintop, before finally stepping back onto the ground.

Gore stood on the opposite side with his back to him and without a second thought Stiles threw out his hand, sending a lash of air rushing towards him. It hit Gore in the back, throwing him off the mountain's edge. There was silence for a moment, nothing but the sounds of Stiles' rapid breaths, before a ripple of water suddenly began reflecting above the ground, and a moment later it molded into the shape of Ran Gore. He threw a surge of water towards Stiles, who quickly dodged out of the way.

Thunder rumbled loudly above them, the sky darkening further as the low, white clouds of the distant blizzard began to heave, the storm beneath them growing stronger and stronger.

"Who was he?" Stiles asked, dodging another wave. He was pleased to see that the smirk, which had been so present on Gore's face earlier, was now completely gone. "What was his name? What did he promise you? Did you really think you were being given your magic and immortality for free?" Stiles gave an incredulous laugh. "You fool!"

Gore's lip twitched, and bolstered, Stiles continued, confidence surging through his veins: "You were a FOOL! I mean, I only learned about who I was seven months ago – I barely know how the hell to use my powers, but even _I_ know that you can't be given power and immortality for free! These gifts always come with a price!"

A spike of water shot towards Stiles and barely missed him, tearing and ripping through the skin on his side. He hissed, blood welling from the cut and soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Anger surged through him and Stiles raised his hand, ice suddenly forming in the air before him, molding itself together until its edge became as sharp as a knife. In the next moment the spear was flying through the air, heading straight towards Ran Gore.

It hit Gore square in the chest, but continued through him and over the mountain's edge, falling to the valley below as Gore's body collapsed in a cascade of water. Stiles immediately tensed, his entire body on edge as he cast out his senses, searching for where Ran Gore – where Tristan Jacobson – was.

"What was his name, Jacobson?" Stiles called out, turning in a circle as he waited for Gore to reappear. "Did you ask him to give you your powers? Or did he just randomly show up out of nowhere, offer you the deal of a lifetime, and like a fool, you took it?"

Gore was somewhere nearby, Stiles could sense that, but he was still unable to pinpoint where.

"Maybe I should look for him," Stiles continued. His confidence, hot, if not brash, surged through him unlike anything he'd felt before, and the words were falling out of his mouth before he had any time to think: "Maybe he's the one I should be going after, the one I should be killing instead of you. Hey, maybe he still has your soul! I could get it back for you, and then you wouldn't need to go taking everyone else's! What do you say to that?!"

Gore – Jacobson – was circling around him now, waiting for a moment to attack. Stiles' fingers twitched, the Air tightening in his grasp. "You never should have come after me. You should have never tried to trap me in that mountain; you should have never tried to take my soul away. You woke something that you had no idea was sleeping; you pushed and prodded, believing that you always had the upper hand, but you were wrong. And now your bid for power has failed. Whatever instrument that man was trying to make out of you, was futile.

"You thought that your immortality would allow you to live out in the world forever – but instead, you ended up rotting away inside of a mountain with nothing but the bones of your slaughtered victims for company. You were played, Jacobson. You were played like the fool you were – and still are. Tell me – what was so great about your soul, that the man who took it would ever want it in the first place? I'd like to meet him – find out if he's an even greater fool than you are."

Gore's voice suddenly broke through the air, booming amongst the thunder all around him: "You call me a fool, _Blessed_ , but it is you who is the fool, if you think you can meet this man and escape unscathed. You talk of waking that which is unknown, but know this – the man of whom you so blithely speak of is a creature that can do far more than I ever could hope to dream of doing. You believe that you are strong enough to overcome him, but I assure you that you could never be more wrong."

Stiles blinked, and like a cord being snapped, the confidence that had been surging through him broke. He hesitated, his hold on the Air faltering for only a moment, when suddenly the man was right in front of him, his face only inches from his own.

The smile that Gore had always worn returned with a vengeance; he grinned wickedly as water sprang from his body and began wrapping around both him and Stiles, circling faster and faster until they were fully encased. Stiles jerked back, trying to get away, but Gore stopped him: "But enough of my past. How about we check up on yours? Let us see how your little town of Beacon Hills is fairing, shall we?"

The water roared loudly in Stiles' ears, and before he could even raise his hands, everything turned to black.

* * *

Like the last time he'd travelled through water, Stiles felt the ground beneath his feet shift and change, the uneven and rocky footing sinking and morphing until it was smooth and even. The darkness was replaced with a blinding light and as Stiles blinked away the droplets from his eyes, he realised that he was standing on a street, surrounded by houses and trees. He knew the street instantly – the familiar homes and trees revealing the well-known street that he took to get to school every day. But the fact that he was actually back home, surrounded by the familiar, wasn't what caused his entire body to freeze, or the breath to be all but punched from his lungs. No – rather, it was a sight far more jarring than he would have ever wanted to see.

Bodies littered the ground like ragdolls, limp and unmoving. It was the middle of the day, the sun shining down through a cloudless sky, but there was no one; there was no one driving or walking, no one screaming for help or calling 911. There had to be ten, fifteen – no, _twenty_ – people lying on the ground, as though they had simply been out for a walk and had collapsed where they stood. Looking around, Stiles saw that house doors had been left open and in some, there were even people inside. Through one door Stiles could see the edges of a couch behind the corner of a wall, making out the barest hint of a child's curly-red hair laying against its arm, not a strand being moved.

Stiles wanted to puke.

Before he could react, though, there was a noise – the sound of heavy breathing and the opening of a car door. Spinning around, Stiles' entire body came to a stop, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes landed on a man just twenty-feet away from him He was dragging himself across the pavement, leaning against the white and blue car as he struggled to take each step. He was dragging an unconscious man across the ground, trying to get him into the open-door of the vehicle.

His father looked as though he were on death's door. His face was whiter than any face Stiles had ever seen, his skin shining and reflecting a tinge of grey. His uniform was wrinkled and mussed beyond any state Stiles had ever seen it in before, his chest and back utterly soaked with sweat. Just as Stiles' heart began beating again, his dad faltered, starting to collapse. Stiles' voice was being ripped from his throat before he had any time to realise he was even speaking:

"DAD!"

His father turned at the shout, startled, but the movement broke his balance and he started to fall to the ground. Without thinking Stiles threw his hands forward. The Air immediately rushed towards John, catching him just before his head hit the pavement. It quickly steadied him, lifting him back up until he was standing once again.

Stiles ran towards his father and John's eyes widened in shock as his eyes met Stiles. He immediately started moving towards him, his name scratching out of his throat as he reached towards his son: "St-Stiles…."

In the next moment Stiles was at his father's side, reaching beneath his shoulder and taking his weight, his heart nearly beating through his chest with panic and fear. John coughed, sagging in Stiles' grip and Stiles stumbled, nearly falling with him as he struggled to keep them both up.

John coughed again and this time blood spurted from his mouth, specks hitting Stiles in the face and across his neck. His heart fell in his chest, his blood turning to ice in his veins as his father's eyes began to close.

"Dad," Stiles said, squeezing John around the shoulder. When he didn't respond, Stiles began to shake him. "Dad… Dad!"

John's eyes fluttered back open, wandering aimlessly until they finally landed on his son. He coughed again. "St-Stiles… Stiles, wh're… where were…."

"Dad, Dad you need to tell me what's going on." Stiles' voice was low and firm, trying to keep his father awake while at the same time trying to get the information he needed. When John didn't reply, Stiles shook him again. "Dad! Dad, is – is everyone gone? Are people still awake? Is the hospital still running, is – is Melissa –."

The hand that had made it across Stiles' shoulder weakly squeezed his arm, and Stiles felt himself begin to break. Each breath John took was short and ragged, his lungs struggling to take in air. Stiles was just about to lower him to the ground when suddenly Gore appeared behind him, grabbing onto his shoulder and wrenching him back, throwing him across the road.

Stiles skidded across the pavement, his skin shredding from the impact. When he finally came to a stop he looked back up, just in time to see Gore's hand pressing against his father's chest.

Gore turned and looked back at Stiles, his lips turned up in a crooked grin. "You should have just let me take your soul, _Blessed_. You never should have tried to escape. You never should have left my mountain. You should have given me what I wanted the moment I asked for it! But I will still escape – I will still have my freedom, even if it takes every man, woman, and child in this town and every town besides to do it! I _WILL_ be free! Do you hear me?! I WILL be free, and I will finally _prove_ my worth!"

It hit Stiles like a ton of bricks, his eyes widening as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"You're not trying to escape the mountains," he said. "You never were. You didn't want my soul in order to escape your prison – you wanted my soul to escape _him_! You're _his_ prisoner!" It felt as though he were seeing everything for the first time, and Stiles could only stare in utter disbelief. "This – this man, whoever he is, he – he still has control over you. And now he's – he's the one who –."

"You're smarter than I gave you credit for, _Blessed_ ," Gore said, his lips pressed in a thin line. "And here I thought you were as much a fool as everyone else."

Stiles took a step forward, his eyes flitting between his father and Ran Gore. His father was barely awake, his eyes half-closed as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

"You weren't entering my prison, _Blessed_ , when you wandered into that mountain. You were entering my _sanctuary_." Gore's fingers clenched over John's chest and Stiles halted, his own fingers twitching at his side. Gore continued, his lips slowly turning into a manic smile. "I wanted power and immortality more than anything else in the world, and when my master told me to kill those people in that useless town to get it, I was more than happy to do so – and I would have gladly killed a thousand more if he had asked me to."

Gore's fingers began to dig into John's skin, causing the man to wince in pain, but Gore paid him no attention. Stiles continued to step forward, his eyes never leaving his father's.

Gore's voice became strained, rising in pitch as he carried on: "But when it was all finished, when I had taken the souls of all those people, that bastard betrayed me! He tried to turn me into his puppet, tried to control my every move and every thought. But even _he_ realised that he could not control me, and eventually he put me in that mountain to keep me from defeating him. And though it meant that my freedom to walk the earth was taken away, at least I no longer had to listen to that son of a bitch."

Gore's bright and manic eyes landed on Stiles, and his grinning lips turned into a snarl. "But then you came along. When you were woken, he came back for me. He decided to give me one last opportunity, one last chance to prove my worth and gain my freedom for good."

Stiles started to take another step, but at that moment Gore seemed to come back to himself, and a shroud of light appeared around his hand that was clenched into John's chest. "Now then, where were we? Ah yes." The light around John's chest suddenly grew brighter and John's eyes snapped open, a scream ripping from his throat, before his head fell forward and he fell into unconsciousness.

A second later a white mist began to appear above his chest as Gore moved his hand away, and Stiles instantly felt and recognised his father's soul. Stiles wasn't even aware of the scream that was tearing out of his own throat until it was ringing in his ears: _"DAD!"_

Gore took the soul and placed it over his chest, where an emerald necklace suddenly appeared, shining brightly until the soul was sucked inside.

Gore tutted. "Though I must say, it feels quite nice to be able to feed on people's souls once more. They offer quite the exhilaration, don't you agree?" Gore laughed.

And Stiles saw red.

Heat ran through his body, lighting up every inch of skin, and he felt his eyes begin to burn. He wasn't aware that he had thrown out his arms and took hold of the Air until suddenly the trees around him were almost being torn from their roots, caught in a maelstrom of wind and fury. One tree was finally uprooted, twisting and spinning until it finally shot towards Gore, heading straight for his head. With a smile, Gore disappeared in a collapse of water and the tree slammed into the police car, shattering the windows and smashing into the roof before rolling off onto the road, its branches narrowly missing John's head.

Before Gore had even materialised, Stiles knew exactly where he was. Spinning around, Stiles shoved out his hand, and just as Gore appeared a ball of fire collided with his face, setting his skin and clothing alight. The rest of the fire flew past him, landing on the ground near one of the many countless bodies.

The fire on Gore's body quickly disappeared, however, leaving Gore's smiling face beneath it. "You can't burn water, my dear boy," Gore said smugly. Stiles gave him no time to continue as he took the nearest trees and made their branches begin to grow. Their limbs shot out in a flash, reaching towards Gore and whipping around his body. Stiles didn't hear the shatter of glass or breaking of wood; all he cared about was stopping Gore with everything he had.

The branches squeezed around Gore's body like a snake, crushing him with all their strength. Like before, though, Gore appeared to be barely bothered and after a few moments of struggle, he disappeared in another wave of water.

Anger burned through Stiles' body and he started to follow Gore's presence once more, but before he could even turn, Gore was behind him.

"Look at you!" Gore taunted, and Stiles turned around, about to throw out his hand once more, but Gore's words stopped him in his tracks: "You are so eager to defeat me, that you don't even realise the destruction you are reaping on your own, poor, feeble little town! Just LOOK at what you've done!"

Stiles blinked, the heat in his eyes fading ever so slightly as he took in his surroundings. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw.

All of the houses around them were destroyed, many of their windows shattered and broken; tree limbs had gouged holes into the walls like a hot knife through butter. Splinters and pieces lay strewn all around them, from whether the houses or trees, Stiles couldn't tell. It was only after a few moments of silence that Stiles realised the ground was shaking.

Gore's laughter rang throughout the street.

Stiles' eyes landed on the still form of his father, who's unconscious body was laying across the ground next to his smashed and broken car. Stiles' heart began to race.

They couldn't do this here. If they fought here, everything would be destroyed; people's bodies would be hurt, and their souls would have nothing to come back to. They had to get out of here, had to go somewhere else. But whe –

A wave of water suddenly collided with Stiles, throwing him back and sending him flying across the pavement. He coughed and spluttered, using the air to slow him down, until finally he was breathing again. Looking up, he could see Ran Gore standing back by his father, his disgusting smirk planted firmly on his face.

Stiles' fingers clenched over the ground, and all his muscles tensed. He knew what he had to do.

When Gore spread his arms and threw the next wave of water towards him, Stiles was ready. Instead of stopping the wave, Stiles let the water crash into him, wrapping around and enveloping him entirely. He could feel Gore in the water along with himself; closing his eyes, Stiles concentrated all of his energy and thought onto the mountain they had left, imagining it in his mind and driving the water towards it as hard as he could.

Stiles felt the water begin to circle around him, faster and faster until suddenly the ground beneath him was shifting and the air around him was changing, and when he next opened his eyes he saw that he was at the top of the mountain once more.

For a brief moment he was utterly alone, before suddenly a whirlpool of water appeared and Gore stepped through its depths. "Well, well, well," he said, nodding towards Stiles. "Looks like someone's finally catching on…."

What came next was a maelstrom of dodges and attacks, as Stiles and Gore both threw water and wind at one another, the two elements colliding and sending the other reverberating high into the sky. They continued to attack each other, some hitting their targets while others missed. After countless throws, Stiles finally dropped to the ground on his knees and splayed his hands across the rock and dirt, clenching his fingers into the earth.

The mountain began to shake; slowly at first, then stronger and stronger until all of the loose rocks and boulders began to tumble down the mountainside. Gore stumbled, unable to regain his footing as the earth continued to move beneath him. Stiles suddenly let go of the ground and raised his hands, boulders rising into the air along with them. They began to circle around them, shredding themselves apart as they spun faster and faster, until they became nothing but a mangle of sharpened ends and jagged edges. Before Gore could even raise his hand to stop them the boulders shot forward, heading straight towards him. Gore manage to dodge one, but the other hit him straight in the stomach, tearing through his skin and sending flesh and blood flying into the air.

Stiles stepped forward, his arm raised and bringing the second boulder back around, but just as he threw it, Gore surrounded himself in a torrent of water. The rock flew into the whirlpool, disappearing inside. It never came out.

The pillar of water fell away and Stiles' breath caught as his eyes met Gore's body, which lay unmoving on the ground. Stepping forward, Stiles' lungs heaved rapidly in his chest, struggling to catch his breath. For a moment, everything was silent, and Stiles blinked, wondering if it was truly over. Tentatively, he took the Air and pressed it against Gore's body, wanting to keep him down in case he awoke; but just as he did, the body suddenly collapsed in on itself, turning into a flood of water and –

Stiles was suddenly pushed from behind and knocked over, his head cracking against the ground. Dazed, he tried to turn, but a weight was pressed hard against his back, keeping him from moving. Suddenly he was spun around and a hand grabbed his head, cracking it back against the rock once more. For a moment, all Stiles could feel was pain and confusion. His vision swam uncontrollably, until bit by bit he began to make out the figure leaning over him.

Gore grinned at him, his eyes dark and his smile wide. He held a hand to Stiles' neck, keeping his air supply limited and low. He chuckled, pressing his hand against Stiles' chest. His hand began to glow. "I should have taken your soul the moment you stepped foot into my mountain," he said, ignoring Stiles' struggles against his hold. "You have proven far more difficult than I thought you would. And yet, at the same time, not far difficult enough."

Stiles coughed and spluttered, trying to gain back his breath while at the same time trying to spread his hands to take hold of the Earth or the Air. Gore shook his head, giving Stiles a look of mock pity. "You truly don't know what strength you hold. Or held, as the case will soon be. Such a shame. You could have been so great – you could have been so _powerful_." Gore took in a breath, a grin fluttering across his lips. "But it doesn't matter now. My master wanted your soul, and so he shall have it. And in exchange, I will have my freedom – and a thousand souls at my own disposal, ready to be absorbed into my body any moment I want.

"Do you know, it wasn't me that sent that letter inviting you to meet Darius' lovely little pack. That was my master – his very own writing, in fact! You should be honoured – he does not spend his time writing to just anyone. But you were worthy enough – you and your True Alpha. And now your soul and your powers are about to be his. Don't worry – it won't hurt. Much."

The light around Gore's hands shone brighter and his fingers began to dig into Stiles' chest, just about to reach his soul and –

There was a great and mighty roar, and suddenly the weight on Stiles' chest was gone, the pain above his heart quickly fading as breath suddenly surged back into his body. He turned on his side, pressing his hand against his throat as he coughed and spluttered. After a moment he managed to look up, his eyes widening at what he saw.

Scott had tackled Ran Gore to the ground, his clawed hand covered in flesh and blood, a deep wound gauged into Gore's right shoulder. He was snarling and growling, his teeth elongated and his eyes blood red. Before Gore had time to even move, Scott had already jumped on his back and was punching and ripping at him as fast as he could.

Coughs tore their way out of Stiles' throat as he got to his feet, his vision blurring as he raised his hand, his fingers splayed against the air. Just as Gore pushed Scott off of him and started to get back to his feet, a rush of wind suddenly flew towards him, lashing around his neck and body and throwing him back down, sending him skidding across the stone and dirt. Just as he arrived at the mountain's edge, he disappeared.

Stiles could feel his presence all around them, and with clenched teeth he watched the space around them as he walked towards Scott. Scott walked towards him in turn and they both turned their backs to the other, their eyes never ceasing their search. The air was constantly shifting with Gore's presence; Scott raised his clawed hands and Stiles raised his arms, ready and waiting.

Water started to circle round the mountaintop, increasing in volume and spinning faster and faster with each passing second. Soon it was towering high into the sky, an angry mix of blue and white as it roared all around them. Stiles struck out his hand and a lash of wind whipped through the vortex, breaking the torrent for a brief moment, before it quickly repaired itself and continued on. Stiles felt his breath quicken and his heart raced in his chest, as he realised that bit by bit, the water was closing in on them. His back now pressed against Scott's, Stiles watched as the water rose higher and higher, reaching over them until, like a tower of cards falling over, it began to collapse on top of them.

Gore suddenly appeared before them, his grin stretched wide across his face. "You fought hard, _Blessed_. Even your True Alpha got in a few good swipes of his own. But now the fight is over. I hope you will enjoy your eternity in your new home." Gore tugged on a string around his neck and pulled out the emerald necklace. The green stone shone brightly, its light piercing the air and into Stiles' eyes like a knife. He could feel the souls inside them as tangible as though they were in his very hands. Their power was immense, and as if in response to their strength, the water around them began to fall faster, roaring louder and louder until it was nothing but a deafening white noise in Stiles' ears.

Throwing his hands out above them, Stiles tried to create a barrier of air to block the torrential fall, but the water was too great and too strong, and suddenly his vision turned to black and his hearing was silenced as the water crashed into his body and sucked him into its depths.

He was drowning.

Stiles could feel himself spinning, the torrent of water giving him no time to right or gather himself together; his arms were whipped around branches in a storm, the water refusing to let him gather his powers and use the Air or the Earth. Stiles could feel the need for air pressing on his lungs as great currents beat against his chest, trying to force him to open his mouth and breathe in the water and drown. He tried to gather the air and create a pocket around his face like he had all that time ago in the lake, but the cyclone of water spinning him around made his efforts impossible.

His lungs were bursting, every thought in his mind spinning along with his body. There was nothing he could do. He needed to stop the water, but he couldn't – the Air wasn't powerful enough, the Earth wasn't powerful enough, Fire wasn't powerful enough – _he_ wasn't powerful enough. If only he had power over the Water, if only he could control it, fully and completely. If only he could grab onto it, hold it in his grasp, bind it to his _soul_ –

Something twinged in Stiles' chest and for a moment, the water slowed down. It quickly sped back up again, though, and Stiles was engulfed once more. Although his thoughts were cluttered and frantic, he knew what it was that he had just felt.

A power. One of the elements.

 _Water._

Spreading his fingers, Stiles cast out his senses.

For a moment he could only feel the Water's strength, its presence, its power. He let it flow through him, wrap around him, touch his soul, allowing himself to take in the elusive element as much as he could.

Control. He'd lost it so many times throughout this whole ordeal, had lost and gained and lost again. He had thought that he'd finally gotten it back when he was buried beneath the avalanche in the train, but he was wrong. He didn't have Water – he'd never had Water. Water had always been just out of reach, just beyond his fingertips. It were as though it were behind a glass – so very close, but not close enough.

Feeling the Water around him, Stiles tried to reach for it, tried to grab onto it, but it kept falling through his fingers like silk. But he couldn't allow that. He couldn't let it go; he could feel Scott nearby, drowning along with him. If he let the Water go they both would die, along with all their friends and everyone in Beacon Hills and beyond. He had to get through to it, he had to break that glass. The Water couldn't belong to Ran Gore any longer. It _had_ to belong to him. It was _going_ to belong to him. Because the Water hadn't always belonged to Ran Gore, it had never belonged to Ran Gore.

The Water was an element, and he was an elemental. They were part of each other. Earth, Air, Fire, and Water – they had always been his. Water had always been his. It always had, and it still did.

 _The Water was_ _his_.

And with a great shatter, the glass broke.

Stiles' eyes snapped open as the water around him came to an abrupt halt. Everything around him froze as he felt power and strength course through him, air feeding into his lungs once more.

The water pushed back against him, rushing around him, trying to suck him in, but Stiles fought against it. Holding out his hand, Stiles grabbed onto the Water and held it firmly in his hands.

Bit by bit the water fell away, the chaos of the currents and vortex slowly moving back, as Stiles felt its power begin to shift from Ran Gore to him.

Stiles suddenly found himself on his feet, as with each passing second more of the water was brought under his control. His eyes burned hotter than he'd ever felt before, and he could sense exactly where Ran Gore was in the tumult of chaos and elements. With a squeeze of his hand, Stiles caught Gore from where he'd been inside the vortex and threw him in front of him.

Gore appeared before him, his eyes wide and arm outstretched as he tried to take back control of the Water – but Stiles refused to let him have it. With every step he took, the Water fell back; with every step it fell from Gore's hands, and into his. Then at last, the last bits of power slipped from Gore's fingertips, and fell into Stiles' waiting hands.

Stiles wasted no time in making his next move.

Stretching out his hand, Stiles latched onto the Air and pushed Gore onto the ground, his knees smashing the rock with a crack. Holding onto the Water with his right hand, Stiles splayed his fingers outwards with a snap. The vortex of water that had been surrounding them suddenly expanded, then shot outwards, dispersing over the mountains and into the sky. Looking down, Stiles finally met Gore's eyes.

Gore was a ruin; various gouges and lacerations littered his body, his chest and legs nearly covered entirely with blood. Wounds from Scott's claws were torn into his neck, bruises spread across his entire body. Stiles could feel his presence, his power, or his lack of it, and he knew that without a doubt it was over. Gore would not walk away from this again. He was going to die.

Raising his hand, Stiles was about to take hold of the Earth when suddenly Gore started laughing. It was a maniacal laugh, a deranged laugh, a laugh of one who had well and truly lost every last thing they had.

Stiles ignored him, about to raise his hand once more when Gore finally spoke: "He's coming for you," he whispered, his voice withered and broken. "He's coming for you, _Blessed_. And when he's finished with you, you'll have wished I had killed you long ago."

"You underestimated me once," Stiles replied, shaking his head. "I wouldn't underestimate me again. Not that it matters anymore. Not for you."

Gore laughed again. "Do you really think that you can kill me? I have more ways of staying alive than you think, boy. You may destroy my body, but I will return. I will never leave this pla –."

"We destroyed the emerald in the mountain," Stiles said, and Gore blinked, shock spreading across his face. Stiles continued, "The only souls you have left are in that emerald around your neck. And once that's destroyed, you'll have nothing left."

Using the Air, Stiles pulled the necklace out from beneath Gore's shirt, and reaching down he snapped it off his neck. "You're finished, Jacobson. It's over."

Gore reacted like a man burned. Reaching out, he screamed at Stiles, and the entire mountains and valleys began to rumble, and the ground beneath him began to shake. The sound of water roared and Stiles could feel it coming towards him. Without waiting another second, Stiles grabbed a nearby rock and began to smash it against the emerald stone. He hit it once, twice, three times. The stone began to crack further and further with each hit, and with each crack that appeared on the stone also appeared on Gore's face, until suddenly – finally – with one final blow, the emerald shattered. There was a resounding boom and a great flash of light, and suddenly white wisps were shooting out from within it and into the open sky, disappearing into the distance.

Gore opened his mouth, but his scream was torn from his throat as his entire body froze. Seconds later his skin began to shrink into his face, and Stiles watched in detached repulsion as Gore's body aged decades before him, his skin growing wrinkled and grey, shrinking into his body and around the bones of his skeleton, until at last it crumpled and turned to dust.

Silence.

For a moment, Stiles couldn't move. He stared at the remnants of Gore's body, which was quickly being swept away into the wind, disappearing across the mountaintop and into the valley below. Stiles' lungs heaved in deep breaths, as his racing heart slowly began to slow.

It was only after what felt like an age that Stiles heard a cough, and he blinked, remembering that he wasn't the only one left on the mountain. Looking up, he saw Scott leaning up on his elbows, staring back at Stiles with exhausted, but relieved eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, before Stiles finally offered a small, but triumphant smile. Realising it was over, Scott's own lips turned up in a smile as well, with not the smallest hint of increduli –

Suddenly, the mountain began to shake. Stiles started and looked back down at the ground beneath him, confused. He reached down and dug his hands into the earth, trying to force the quake to stop, but it didn't. Instead it only grew stronger, until its roar was the only thing that Stiles could hear. It took him a moment to realise what was happening, but when he did, his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

The mountain. The mountain they were on was Gore's mountain, the one that had been his prison for all those years. It was probably infused with Gore's power and magic, and with its host now dead, it was literally falling apa –

A deep and low crack sounded beneath him, and Stiles felt the earth begin to split in two. It took only a moment to realise where the fissure was falling, and with heart-stopping panic Stiles looked up, his eyes watching as the crack spread to where Scott was laying, quickly wrapping around him until it met the mountain's edge. Scott realised what was happening moments after Stiles did, but he had no time to even move before the ground beneath him suddenly gave way, and crumbled beneath him. His eyes met Stiles' for only a second, before he disappeared over the mountaintop.

 _"_ _SCOTT!"_

Heat seared behind Stiles' eyes and throughout his entire body, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and jumping over the mountain's edge.

* * *

A/N: Stiles has been doing a lot of jumping, lately.

Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! I love, love hearing from you guys :)

One more to go! :D


	20. Chapter 20

Everything was a rush – the air searing past his face, his ears filled with white noise, rock and dirt falling like rain all around him. His heart and stomach felt as though they were about to fall out of his body, but Stiles couldn't focus on any of it – all he could focus on was the body tumbling through the air below him, moving farther and farther away with every passing second. As they neared the ground faster and faster, Stiles knew what he had to do. Reaching his hands out in front of him, Stiles took hold of the air and grasped it harder than he ever had before and threw it around Scott, wrenching him forward just as a boulder soared into the space he'd been just moments before. Like a bungee cord being snapped, Scott crashed into Stiles' arms and Stiles held onto him, holding him with all his strength as the mountain fell above them.

* * *

Scott didn't know what was going on. One minute panic was pounding through his chest as he fell through the air, and the next he was feeling something wrap around him, holding him, lifting him into the air, moving him; for a brief moment, it almost felt as though he were flyi –

Out of nowhere the pounding air that had been beating against his ears was silenced, the freefall he had been in abruptly stopped as something crashed into his body.

He wasn't sure how long it took, but eventually he realised that he was surrounded by water. He began to struggle, instinctively trying to swim, to get up to the surface, but something was holding him back. He could feel currents pushing him along, keeping him down, refusing to let him up, refusing to let him go, refusing to let him breathe. His lungs were near to bursting, his body desperate for air; he needed to get to the surface, he needed to breathe, he _needed to breathe_ –

It was with a great and almost terrifying start that Scott suddenly realised he _was_ breathing. In the midst of all his panic, he'd somehow opened his mouth and took in air, sucking it desperately in without even knowing it. Except that was impossible; there was no way that he could – there was no way that he should be able to –

Without warning Scott's head suddenly broke the surface and he opened his eyes, looking and turning around to orient himself as fast as he could.

Stiles was beside him; it was his hand that had a near death-grip on Scott's arm and was pulling him forward. At first Scott didn't notice it amongst the splashing and spraying of water as they continued down what Scott now realised to be the river, but then he saw it – the unmistakable glow that filled and surrounded Stiles' eyes, which were currently focused entirely on the distance before them. They were a colour that Scott had never seen before, a deep, cerulean blue that stood out vividly against the whites of his eyes.

Before Scott had any time to speak or move or do anything, he suddenly found himself veering to the left, and before he knew what was happening the raging current of the river suddenly turned, and he found himself practically being thrown onto the river bank.

Stiles listened as Scott coughed, but he paid it no real attention as he crawled further onto the forest floor, continuing to drag Scott with him; only now that he was no longer in the water, he didn't have any more control over him and moving Scott's werewolf-body was now like moving a ton of bricks. After getting them as far up the bank as he could, Stiles collapsed, his lungs heaving and heart pounding in his chest. He turned around just in time to see the last of the mountain collapsed away in the distance, disappearing beneath the trees.

They sat still for a long time, listening as the rumbling of the falling mountain echoed throughout the valleys, until at last it all faded into silence.

After what felt like an age, Scott turned to Stiles. They caught each others' eyes, staring at one another for a long moment before Scott finally spoke: "So he's dead?"

Stiles broke away and gave a short, jerky nod. "Yeah. He's gone. I broke the necklace around his neck, and I saw all the souls escape, and… and..." Stiles trailed off, suddenly having no desire to continue. He couldn't bring himself to think of everything that had just happened, much less explain it all in detail. Closing his eyes, Stiles fell onto his back, choosing for the moment to just _breathe_.

It wasn't long though, before Scott's voice sounded again: "Do you… do you think the others made it out in time?"

It suddenly hit Stiles that Scott being here meant that the others had been left alone. Part of him wanted to be angry with Scott, to chew him out for leaving the rest of the pack alone in the middle of danger, but the rising anger quickly melted away as he realised it was pointless. He could have never left without expecting Scott to follow, just as he would inevitably always follow Scott in whatever danger he would face. They always seemed stronger together.

Digging his fingers into the dirt, Stiles forced himself to calm and listen, searching for the presence of metal and steel, of tracks and wheels moving against the earth. He eventually felt it: a train travelling towards the east, moving ever farther and farther away from them with every passing second. They were already out of the mountain range and dipping into the plains below; they were safe.

Opening his eyes, Stiles let out a deep breath. "Yeah," he finally responded. "Yeah, they're okay. They're safe. Daniel and Jacob will take care of them."

With his fingers still buried in the earth, Stiles began to notice a few other things. First, the snow and blizzard that had been ravaging the mountains for the last few days was entirely gone, only the sun and smell of spring remaining. Second, and what was probably the most startling, was the absence of the heavy weight of darkness that had enveloped the mountains and valleys ever since Stiles had stepped foot past their peaks. It had been so common a feeling that Stiles had almost forgotten it was even there; but with Ran Gore now gone, it felt as though a heavy and suffocating blanket had finally been removed, letting in the fresh air once more.

It wasn't until he felt Scott shift that Stiles opened his eyes again; he was surprised to see that the sun was now setting, colours of orange and pink painted across the sky, looking for all the world as though a psychotic man hadn't just been stopped in his efforts to kill and eat the souls of thousands of people. Stiles looked over to Scott, who was sitting a few feet away from him and staring off into the distance, a small frown pulling down at his lips. After a moment his eyes turned to Stiles. "What do you think we should do?" he asked.

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was only with his hand in his hair that he began to notice something warm pressing against his chest. Looking down, his eyes caught the faint outline of the glass shard that was still tucked away inside his shirt pocket. A small frown began tugging at his lips as he looked away, his hand unconsciously moving to rest above it.

She was dying. She was dying, and there was nothing that Stiles could do about it.

Scott stared at Stiles' hand as it lay above his heart, knowing exactly what he was thinking of. Or _who_ he was thinking of; and while Scott empathised with him, he also knew that this outcome had been inevitable. Scott knew what it was like to want and try to save everyone – he had done that over and over the first three years of his werewolf life; but after all that had happened in those past years, after everything that had happened in these past months, it had become all too apparent to Scott that, sometimes, no matter how hard you tried or how much you wanted, not everyone could be saved.

Glancing at the darkening sky, Scott looked back to Stiles and took a breath. "Stiles, we need to start figuring out how we're gonna get back home. Are we gonna walk, or just find the nearest town and phone, or… or is there another… way?" Scott looked at Stiles carefully, quietly licking his lips. "Do you know if you can… if you can do what Ran Gore did? With the water, I mean? How he could transport himself, how he transported Lydia and Malia and Liam from the river to the mountains…."

Scott's words were like the sand on the shore, gritty and harsh, but like the crashing of a wave they were quickly swept away as a sudden feeling washed over him, rooting Stiles to where he sat. He couldn't explain what it was, other than the simple knowledge that he couldn't do what Scott had asked. No. They couldn't leave, not now. Not yet.

His hand clenching over the shard above his chest, Stiles shook his head. "No," he said quietly, giving a small shake of his head.

Scott frowned. "'No' what? No, you can't transport us? Or –."

Stiles shifted, rising to his feet. The feeling that had come over him had now settled in the pit of his stomach, pulling at him, urging him to start moving, to start walking. Stiles' eyes landed on Scott's, trying not to sound as unstable and insane as he felt. "We can't leave yet, Scott. I still… there's something we still have to do."

Scott's frown deepened and he quickly got to his own feet, fighting back the anger that was beginning to swell in his chest. "What are you talking about, Stiles?"

Stiles turned and began walking into the woods, and Scott quickly followed angrily. "Stiles!" he shouted. "Stiles, you can't…" Scott tripped over a tree root, stumbling before he caught himself. "You can't just fight off a guy like Ran Gore, barely say anything about it, then expect people to follow you into the woods without telling them why! You gotta let me know what's going on, you gotta tell me where are we're going." When Stiles didn't reply, Scott let out an angry huff. "Stiles, stop with this _bullshit_ –."

"Yeah, well, how does it feel to deal with that 'bullshit', huh?" Stiles snapped, coming to a halt and spinning around. He glared at Scott. "Maybe now you understand what kind of crap I've had to put up with the last three years, with you taking off at every little sniff of the wind, fighting any supernatural creature that came your way, like some batshit-crazy _dog_."

Scott blinked, taken aback by the unexpected insult, but he quickly gathered himself back together, his muscles tensing beneath his skin. "Yeah, well, at least I never dragged us into the mountains or got us trapped in some psycho's prison, nearly getting us killed, unable to do a single thing about it like a –."

The trees around them began to groan and Scott swore he saw a few of them move, despite the absence of wind. He stopped talking just as a branch suddenly whipped out and smacked him in the face. He spluttered, pushing the branch aside angrily, about to yell at Stiles once more, until his eyes landed on his friend's form.

Stiles was standing a few feet in front of him, his shoulders hunched and head almost buried in his arms, his hands clenching tightly in his hair, the muscles on his back pulled taut. What made Scott blink though, was the sight of the trees that had lowered and gathered around him, their branches reaching towards the elemental and their leaves brushing over him, nearly covering him from view. It looked almost as though they were trying to comfort him, almost as though they were trying to protect him.

The anger that had been filling Scott suddenly fell away, and he realised with a start how ridiculous he was being. They – _Stiles_ – had just defeated a century's-old murderer, who had just been about to kill thousands more. They should be happy, they should be celebrating – so why were they fighting?

"Stiles," Scott said, tripping over another upturned root. "Stiles, we won! Ran Gore is dead, everyone's safe, so why are you –."

"She helped me, Scott." Stiles' voice was barely more than a whisper, but Scott's werewolf-ears easily picked them up. Scott was about to open his mouth, to ask what he was talking about, but Stiles cut him off: "She saved from Givens, she helped me wake up from her spell. If she hadn't done that, if she hadn't brought me to her world, then I… I would have never…."

"Stiles…." Scott let out a sigh. "Stiles, I know she helped you snap out of the spell, I know she helped you figure out your powers, but… but there's _nothing_ you can do. Her world was dying, there was no way you'd have been able to save her. It's too late."

"She opened the drawer."

Scott's brows furrowed together in confusion. "What?"

Stiles finally raised his head, turning round and looking at Scott through the leaves and moonlight. "Alayna was the one who opened the drawer in Givens' house, where she had been hiding my phone. She opened it the moment you called me. If she hadn't done that, if she hadn't interfered with Givens' spell and given me back my phone, then you… then I…."

Stiles took a deep breath, looking Scott in the eye. "Your phone call is what broke me out of the spell, Scott. It was only when I talked to you that I started to remember, that I realised she had made me her prisoner. But it was only because of Alayna that I was able to answer the phone. She saved me. She saved me, and if she hadn't done that, then I would still be… I'd still…." Stiles broke off, his features twisting in pain for a moment before he managed to fight the emotions back. Finally he looked back up, shaking his head. "I have to save her. She's still here, Scott, I can feel it. I have… I have to find a way to save her. I _have_ to."

Scott stared at his friend – his brother – for a long time, neither saying a word as the wind whispered gently around them and through the trees. Then finally, the werewolf spoke: "Okay."

Stiles glanced up at Scott, and Scott gave him a nod. "Okay. If you want to try and find a way to save her, then that's what we'll do. You're right – we can't give up, not yet. Gore is dead and the others are safe, so there's no better time than now."

Relief washed over Stiles' face, and a weary smile tugged at his lips. Scott gave a small smile in return, and in a few moments they were walking into the woods once more.

After nearly fifteen minutes Scott asked, "So do you know where we're going? Or are we just walking until… until…."

Stiles slowed to a stop and Scott came up beside him, looking at him curiously. Stiles' hand touched his sternum and he frowned slightly. "There's… there's something that I… that I can feel. I can sense it. It's pulling at me and… and it's leading me somewhere. We're going somewhere, I'm sure of it – I just don't know where that is."

It wasn't the first time in the past year, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last, that Scott felt as though he were getting a real sense of what it was that Stiles had gone through, when he was first bitten. It took an incredible amount of trust to follow someone when they themselves didn't even know where they were going, and Scott wished that he had only realised the revelation sooner. Stiles had been there for him through thick and thin for the past three years – heck, for their entire lives. Now it was Scott's turn, and he refused to let his brother down.

They walked for another half hour, Scott trailing behind as Stiles led. He watched as Stiles would take out the mirror shard every so often, holding it tight, stopping every once in a while and staring at it. Scott wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he wasn't going to interrupt. Not now.

It wasn't until an hour later that the scent hit Scott's nose.

It took him a moment, more from shock and disbelief than confusion, but the scent quickly became painfully and shockingly familiar.

Stiles came to a stop the same moment Scott did, his entire body stilling as the ancient being's presence washed over him. He could feel its feet against the earth, its breath breathing in the air, its life flowing through its body. At first Stiles didn't know who it was, but then as the creature – the man – stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight, recognition quickly dawned.

Darius.

Everything in Stiles froze at the sight of the ancient werewolf, his body completely still as the man stepped silently into the moonlit glade.

There was a long moment of silence as Darius' eyes raked over Stiles and Scott, a small smile forming at his lips.

Stiles could only stare. "Darius."

Darius nodded. " _Blessed_." His eyes moved to Scott. "True Alpha."

They stared at each other for another long moment in silence, until Scott's voice finally spoke: "Darius, how…." He swallowed, his eyes wide. "We thought you were dead. When you left, there was… and Daniel and Jacob said that you –."

"I am over three-hundred years old, my young wolf," Darius said with a smile. "I haven't survived this long simply thanks to luck. I assure you, I still have a few tricks left up my sleeve."

The leaves rustled in the wind, their branches moving ever so slightly as a frown formed slightly on Stiles' lips. "Why did you… why didn't you come back, then? What were you doing that you weren't able to come ba –."

"Not everything is as effortless as you would like to believe, _Blessed_. Life is not made of simple choices fulfilled with ease. I should think that you would know this better than most, by now."

Stiles fell silent, his anger slowly falling away. He knew Darius was right, but still – if he had known that the werewolf was still alive, if he had been able to come back to help them, then maybe Gore wouldn't have gotten so far. Maybe there would be people who would be still alive, maybe Beacon Hills wouldn't have ever come under attack –

"What are you doing here now? Ran Gore is dead, and what's left of your pack is over a hundred miles away."

Stiles looked up at Scott's question, looking at Darius with a creased brow. Why _had_ he come back? If he'd managed to escape, if he'd only just been able to get back to them now, then why was he here? Why wasn't he with his pack, or tracking down Daniel and Jacob, or….

Darius' eyes fell back to Stiles, landing on a spot just above his chest. "There is unfinished business I have yet to do." His gaze flickered up to meet Stiles' eyes, a small smile forming at his lips. "I knew you would defeat the Man in the Mountain, _Blessed_. Even at this young stage in your life, you are still able to accomplish much. I have no doubt in the future that lays before you."

Stiles, like every other time he was told of his future – of his power and strength and 'destiny' – could only feel a detached numbness. Despite everything and all that had happened, he still felt like someone who had no arms and no legs, and yet who had been told he was one day going to swim.

Unable to deal with Darius' words, Stiles instead felt that which he could understand – guilt. "Yeah, well," he said bitterly, "I'm obviously not that great, if I can't even get Alay –." Stiles swallowed, then continued, "…if I can't even get Alayna out of the mirror. I've tried and I've tried and _I've_ _tried_ , but no matter what I do, nothing happens –."

Darius stepped forward and reached out his hand. "Give me the shard."

Stiles stood silent for a long moment, before he finally took out the piece of glass and handed it to the werewolf.

"With all that I know you will do, I forget sometimes that you are still young, and have so much yet to learn." Darius held the shard in the palm of his hands, and for the briefest moment Stiles thought he saw the glass shimmer with gold. The wolf continued to hold it in his palms for a few moments, before he spoke, his eyes never lifting from the glass. "Are you aware of the bond that is held between the _Blessed_ and the True Alpha?"

Stiles blinked, caught off guard at the unexpected question. As he thought about it, he slowly began to remember Alayna's words from what felt like an age ago: _"Stiles, you must also know – Scott is more important that you realise. The_ prophecies _–."_

Givens had said something about it too, something about his connection to Scott, how it had done something she hadn't wanted, how it had messed up her spell….

 _Stiles watched as Givens' eyes turned to Scott, before coming back to rest on him. She glanced between them again, before her eyes suddenly widened and her back straightened in her seat..."I should have known. I should have known that him being near you would negate the effects of the spell. That little bitch. Well I know better now, don't I?"_

"Scott."

Scott looked up and Darius nodded, motioning him over. He hesitated for only a moment, eyes flickering between Stiles and Darius, before he finally stepped forward.

Darius' smile widened ever so slightly as his eyes met the young wolf's. "You've grown much since we first met. Shifting into a full-wolf for one in such circumstances as yours is no small feat. And able to fight off a man like Ran Gore – you are every bit as worthy as the stories foretold."

Scott frowned, looking as though he were about to open his mouth and question Darius' words, but the older werewolf cut him off before he could speak. "Now," he said, holding out the shard between Stiles and Scott, "if you are to save the young woman Alayna, then you must use both your strength together. The world her father built is dying – it is on the very verge of collapse. You must go into that world, _Blessed,_ and bring her out before she falls with it. The True Alpha will stay on this side of the portal; he will be your anchor, and will bring you and the young woman back to this world. But you must act quickly, else the world will fall, and you and the young woman will both be lost."

A random thought went through Scott's mind, a remembrance, a small whisper, of how if Darius had said this two or three years ago – heck, even one – that Stiles would have most likely responded back with some quip, a sarcastic remark, like: _"Yeah, yeah – if we miss the departure time we won't get beamed up, and we'll be left on the planet alone. Set phasers to stun, I guess."_ The words would have expressed the cliché-ness of the situation, while at the same time betraying Stiles' own fears and anxiety. It was how Stiles had reacted whenever they had gotten into trouble. Now, however, as Scott looked over to his friend, he saw that Stiles' jaw remained tightly clenched, his lips pressed firmly together in silence.

He had changed so much, Scott realised absently. When had that happened? When had the old Stiles, the friend of his childhood, the brother of his youth, changed from a sarcastic, happy kid who could never keep his mouth shut, into a man seemingly older than his years, who would now barely speak a word?

"Scott."

Scott blinked, looking up to see both Stiles and Darius looking at him expectantly. Darius held out the shard towards him. "Here," he said. "Hold the mirror's edge, and _Blessed,_ you take hold of the other side."

Both Stiles and Scott did as they were told, taking the shard and holding its edge between their fingers. Darius let his hand hover over theirs for a brief moment, before he let go and took a step back. As he did, Scott felt a beat, a pulse reverberate from what could only be the glass itself, moving through his fingertips and up his arm, until it had washed through his entire body. Looking up and seeing Stiles' surprised eyes, Scott could only assume he had felt the same thing.

"Now, _Blessed_ ," Darius said and Stiles turned to him, his brows creased together in apprehension as he waited for the werewolf to continue. "To open the portal, you must use the strength within yourself – the power of the _Blessed_. Once you have it, you must urge the portal open – you must use your _will_ , your _desire_. Find the lock, turn the key, and open the door."

Stiles wanted to refute Darius, to say that everything he had just said sounded like bullshit and nonsense; but before he could even open his mouth, he began to feel something pulsate within the glass, a power deep within it, which Stiles swore he could almost touch. In the next second the power pulsed again, and Stiles was suddenly enveloped with its strength. He could almost feel the door opening, the world that stood on the other side. It was a familiar world, a simple world, a dying world. Before he even knew what he was doing, Stiles found himself taking a deep breath, grabbing hold of the door beneath his fingertips, and pushing – demanding – for it to be opened.

A great wind suddenly roared over him, and in a single blink a familiar portal appeared before him in the air. There was a great flash of light and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut; before he knew what was happening he felt a great pull on his sternum, and without warning he was falling forward and into Alayna's world.

* * *

The sky was filled with orange and black.

The green, vibrant meadow and forest that Stiles had entered when he'd first stepped foot in Alayna's world was gone. In its place were bare and broken trees, splintered and ripped from their roots; the grass that had blanketed the ground was black and brown, scorched and dying. The earth rumbled and rolled in a constant quake, nearly tossing Stiles from his feet and onto his face. On instinct Stiles dug his feet into the earth, willing it to stop. The ground around him quieted, leaving Stiles able to stand, but it continued to shake and roar in the distance. Stiles could feel it in his bones as the earth touched his feet – the world was tearing itself apart. Then he suddenly remembered why he was there.

Alayna.

Snapping his head up, Stiles quickly began searching for the woman, unconsciously seeking her through the air and the earth, until at last he found her. His eyes landed on the cottage across the yard and he immediately began running towards it, veering around the corner until he was at the other side. His feet quickly skidded to a halt.

Alayna was sitting on the ground, her back leant against the side of the house. Her eyes were closed, her body covered in grime and dirt, her dress shredded and torn. Her face was startlingly pale, her skin shining with sweat, almost as though she were dying herself. But what caught Stiles' attention the most was the body of a man lying beside her, his head laying gently in her lap. Stiles immediately recognised him as Alayna's father, David, whose soul he had put in the shard back when he was inside the mountain. For a moment, Stiles was confused; he had only felt one soul when he cast out his senses, so why were there two bod –

Understanding quickly dawned, as Stiles realised why he had only felt Alayna's presence: David was dead.

That was why the world was now finally crumbling, that was why Stiles had been feeling such a persistent and unrelenting urge to _save her, save her, he had to save her._

A great crack of what sounded like thunder boomed above them, the earth giving a great and mighty roll in its echo. Stiles stumbled, falling against the house as he called out Alayna's name: _"ALAYNA!"_

For a moment Stiles thought she was unconscious, but then, as the ground continued to shake, she slowly opened her eyes. She stared ahead for a few moments, before her gaze slowly turned to Stiles. Her brows furrowed, her mouth turning in a frown as their eyes met, and for a moment they only stared at each other, until finally Alayna's eyes began to widen. Her mouth moved, her words lost amongst the chaos all around them, but Stiles could still hear her voice carrying through the air: _"Stiles."_

Stiles surged forward, nearly falling over his feet as he knelt to the ground beside her. He grabbed onto her arm, trying to pull her up. "Alayna – Alayna, we have to leave, we have to leave _now_. The world's collapsing, we need to get out of here before it –."

"Stiles, you came back." Alayna's voice was thin and hoarse, her words scratching their way through her throat, touched with surprise and awe.

"Of course I came back," Stiles said, trying once more to pull her to her feet. "I said I was going to save you, didn't I?"

"Is he gone?" Alayna asked, not seeming to have heard Stiles' reply. "Jacobson… is he dead? Is it finally over?"

"Yes," Stiles said, gripping his hand tighter on Alayna's arm, trying to lift her to her feet. "He's dead. I killed him and I destroyed the necklace, the souls are gone – he won't be coming back again. It's over."

A small smile pulled at Alayna's mouth, her half-lidded eyes crinkling as she continued to remain on the ground, letting Stiles pull futilely at her arm. "Good," she said, her other arm moving to rest on her father's head. Her fingers wrapped in his hair, drifting gently through its grey strands as though she were merely watching him sleep.

Another crack of thunder broke above them, and Stiles could feel another break in the world's core as it shattered beneath his feet. Panic ran through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest as the ground shook once more, sending him sprawling to the ground. He could feel the tether between him and Scott being pulled taut, coming dangerously close to snapping apart. He suddenly heard his friend's voice echoing through his head in panicked urgency: _"Stiles, hurry! The portal's starting to break – I can't keep it open much longer! HURRY!"_

Swallowing, Stiles clenched his teeth and took Alayna by the shoulders, forcing her to turn to him. "ALAYNA!" he shouted in her face. "Alayna, look at me!" Alayna's eyes, which had strayed to her father's body, slowly turned back to Stiles, her brow raised curiously as their eyes met. Stiles tried again, setting his voice as hard as he could. "Alayna, your father's dead." Alayna's face twitched, and Stiles continued: "Your father's dead, and if we don't get out of here now, we will be too."

Alayna's half-lidded eyes slowly began to widen, and Stiles could see the moment when comprehension finally began to dawn. Her gaze flickered back to her father, her eyes beginning to shine as she spoke: "My father…."

Anger and fear rushed through Stiles' veins and he began pulling on the young woman once more. "Alayna, come ON!"

Alayna's legs finally began to move, David's head gently falling to the ground as Stiles all but picked her up and set her on her feet. The ground gave another great shake and Alayna landed in Stiles' arms, her wide eyes never leaving her father's body. There was no time to grieve, though, and Stiles quickly began pulling her forward, dragging her along the side of the house until they past its edge and were starting towards the portal in the middle of the yard.

"Stiles, Stiles you came back," Alayna said again, her voice tinged with disbelief, as though suddenly seeing him for the first time.

"Of course I came back," Stiles replied, his eyes landing on the brightly shining portal that was quickly rising to meet them. "Too many people have already died – I wasn't going to let you die too."

As they stumbled across the grass, Alayna's feet seemed to come back to her, as she finally realised what was going on. But just as they were nearing the portal, she suddenly came to a halt, her feet digging into the ground and pulling Stiles back. Stiles' head snapped back to her, his eyes wide. "What are you doing?!"

"I have to go back!" Alayna yelled, struggling to pull herself from Stiles' grip. "My – my _book_. I have to get my boo –."

Before she had finished speaking, Alayna had freed her arms from Stiles' hands and was running across the yard and into the quickly crumbling house. Stiles stared in shock for only a moment before he was running after her, his heart shooting into his throat as terror coursed through his veins. What the hell was she doing?! They were almost out, why the hell had she gone back?! They were almost out –

In the next moment, however, Alayna was back at the door, a large book wrapped in her arms as she ran across the yard and back to Stiles' side. Stiles had no time to question her as her hand latched onto his arm and began pulling him forward, and together they ran towards the portal. The sky darkened, and without a single glance behind them, they jumped into mirror's light.

* * *

Stiles landed on his face and suddenly got a mouthful of grass, rolling across the ground as he coughed and spluttered. He quickly pushed himself back onto his feet, his head snapping back and forth as he searched for Alayna. His eyes quickly found her kneeling on the ground a few feet away, her arms still wrapped in a death-grip around her book, her hair falling across her face, making it impossible for Stiles to see if she was all right or not. Scott was standing a few feet away leaning against a tree, looking completely exhausted and gasping for breath, but in the next moment he was running forward, his hands grasping onto Alayna's shoulders. Alayna jumped, looking up at him with wide eyes, and Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding when he saw that she was all right.

Looking around, Stiles realised that Darius was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, his eyes rising to meet Scott's. He opened his mouth, about to ask where the ancient werewolf was, but Scott answered him before he could speak: "He's gone," he said, helping Alayna to her feet. She looked at Stiles and the two held each other's gaze for a brief moment, before Scott continued: "As soon as you went through the portal, he disappeared. I can't smell him anywhere."

The hoot of an owl sounded above them in the distance, a gentle wind drifting through the trees and around Stiles' body, carding through his hair. All was quiet in the forest, the Earth silently whispering all around him that for once, in what felt like an age, there was no imminent danger – they were all safe. The panic that had been racing through Stiles' veins slowly began to ease, his racing heart at last beginning to slow as the knowledge that they were all right.

It was finally over.

Stiles rose to his feet, making his way over to Scott and Alayna. Gently touching Alayna's arm, he asked, "are you okay?"

Alayna's eyes were wide and she appeared shocked and uncertain, but returning to a world you hadn't seen in over a hundred years might do that to you. She quickly mustered up a small smile, though, pushing her shoulders back as she gave Stiles a quiet nod. "Yes," she said, her fingers clenching around the edges of her book. "It will take me a moment, but… but yes; I'm all right."

They stood in silence for a few moments, nothing but the sounds of the owls and rustling of the leaves to be heard, as the shock and adrenaline of the past half hour finally began to abate. After a while, Scott spoke: "So what… what are we going to do now?"

Stiles glanced at Alayna, who was staring off into the distance, appearing not to have heard a word Scott had said. Stiles shook his head, running his hands across his face, digging his fingers deep into his cheeks and eyes. "I don't know," he said. "There's no point in going anywhere right now, and I'm so tired that I can't… I can't even begin to _think_ of trying to make the water transport us or… or _whatever_ it does. I'm so tired that I just… I just ca –."

Stiles ran his hands through his hair, letting out an angry and frustrated growl. "Gah, I just – I can't believe Darius just up and left! The dude walks in here like Gandalf the friggin' _White_ , doesn't bother telling us how he survived, and then he just decides to send us on our merry little way back to the Shire without even have the decency to give us directions!"

Scott watched as Stiles let out another angry growl, before he stomped over to a nearby tree and placed his palm against its bark. The tree immediately began to grow and expand, its branches and leaves reaching out above their heads until it was blocking out the sky. The trees around them did the same, until they were completely covered in what seemed like a makeshift shelter. Fingers snapped, and a second later a fire appeared in the middle of the circle, dousing the small space in light. Though its flames burned bright and warm, they never touched the trees and its smoke quickly dissipated into the air.

Scott knew that he should be in more awe of what Stiles had just done than he currently was, but he was currently as exhausted as Stiles was, and he really wanted to do nothing more than lay down and sleep, and maybe even try and come to terms with all that had happened.

A few minutes later they had settled themselves around the fire, staring into its flames or into the trees in silence. Alayna was soon asleep, her body lying in the curvature of a tree's trunk, her arms still wrapped around the massive book that sat in her lap like a teddy-bear. Scott watched Stiles for a long time, staring at his friend as he continued to gaze unseeingly into the flickering flame. Finally, after what felt like an age of silence, Scott rose to his feet and walked across the forest floor, dropping to the ground beside his friend.

The two sat together in silence once more, and for a while Scott thought that nothing would happen, that nothing would be said; but then, a few minutes later, Stiles finally spoke: "I can't believe he's actually dead," he said softly. "I didn't… I didn't think he'd actually ever die. With everything he'd done, with everyone he'd killed… I didn't think that I would actually be able to kill him. I never thought I'd be strong enough."

"But you did kill him," Scott replied. "So obviously you _were_ strong enough."

"But I wouldn't have made it without you," Stiles said, shaking his head. "He had me pinned and he would have killed me, if you hadn't showed up. I came so close to failing, and I would have failed, if you… if you hadn't…."

"Stiles," Scott sighed, "let me tell you something. Now, I know I'm not Darius and I'm not Alayna – I'm not anyone, really –." Stiles let out a startled refute, but Scott cut him off: "Let me finish! I'm saying that while I haven't been a werewolf that long, and a True Alpha even less than that, I've learned enough to know that you can't go up against the supernatural or crazy, psychotic maniacs and expect to do everything all by yourself. Everyone has help, everyone needs help. These guys don't get strong and powerful by being easy to defeat; sometimes – most times – you need someone to help you. So don't you dare be kicking yourself because you weren't able to defeat him alone. To be honest, Stiles, that's probably that stupidest thing I've heard you say in a long time. And believe me, I've heard you say a lot of stupid things throughout our lives."

Stiles was silent for a long moment, his lips still pressed tightly together and his eyes still unsure. "I still feel like I don't know anything about my powers or what I can do. I was able to get them back in time to go after Ran Gore, but they're still… I still…." Stiles took a breath. "I can't lose them again, like I did this time. I can't lose control of them. I need… I need to figure out how to use them, I need to figure out how…." Stiles leaned back, his hand coming to rest at the base of his chest, right above his sternum. "When I lost them the first time, I didn't even realise they were gone. But when I got them back…. It was like eating for the first time in days, not realising that you were starving until you tasted food again."

There was a long pause, then Stiles shook his head. "Everyone… everyone keeps saying how important I am, how powerful I am, how powerful I'm _going_ to be. But all I can think is how weak I am, how stupid and useless I am. There are so many things that if I'd only made a different choice, if I'd only made the _smart_ choice, none of this would have ever happened in the first place – and so many more people would still be alive. Everyone in Beacon Hills, Darius' pack, mothers and fathers and _children_. Lydia and Malia and Liam would have never been kidnapped, they would have never had their souls ripped from their bodies and stuffed in some godforsaken stone –."

"Stiles," Scott said, interrupting him. "Shut up."

Stiles blinked, looking up at Scott, brows furrowed in bemusement. He opened his mouth to speak, but Scott beat him to it, looking at him with stern, but gentle eyes. "Stiles, you're an idiot." Stiles tried to interrupt, but Scott kept going: "Stiles, dude – you stopped Ran Gore, a hundred-year old, power-hungry _psycho_ who was trying to take over the world. We've never seen someone like him before; no one else would have been able to defeat him but you. You risked your own life to save everyone else's and you _won_. It wasn't easy, sure, and not without costs – but is anything in our lives ever easy?"

Stiles was silent, but Scott could see the tension in his body slowly begin to leave. It didn't surprise him, that Stiles was being so absurdly hard on himself, even though they had won. Of the two of them, Stiles had always been the pessimist, had always been the first to see the bad in things rather than the good. Always the first to doubt. He had always been there for Scott throughout everything that had happened since he'd become a werewolf – he had always been there for him throughout his entire life – picking up him, encouraging him as best he could. It was easier to remind Scott of all the good in life, of all the good he had done. For Stiles, though, it would take a little more pushing, a little more reminding that, even though he was an elemental and the _Blessed_ – whatever that really was – he wasn't a god. He was still very much a human.

Stiles said nothing for a few minutes, silence falling over them once more, until finally he replied: "Well, I guess if I needed someone to have my back, at least I have a _True Alpha_."

"See?" Scott said with a small grin, "it helps to have a werewolf for a best friend, doesn't it?"

A small grin tugged at Stiles' own lips and he leaned forward, his knee knocking slightly into Scott's. "Yeah, well, it's about time you did something useful. I can't be going around saving the day all by myself all the time now, can I? Batman needs his Robin, after all."

"Hey," Scott said, fake annoyance in his tone. "We agreed a long time ago that _I_ was Batman. Decisions like that can't be changed."

"Circumstances change, though, and sometimes Batman needs to put down the cowl and let someone else put it on."

"Not while he's still alive, he doesn't."

"Then maybe Robin will have to take the mask from him by force."

"Robin would get beat up pretty fast if he did that, and he'd definitely get kicked out of the bat-cave for a while."

The grin on Stiles' face widened and a soft smile pulled on Scott's lips, as he realised that maybe, just maybe, the brother of his youth wasn't completely gone.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so, so much for your patience! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. As you can see, there will now be ONE MORE chapter to come. I always end up writing way, way too much, so there wasn't enough room to write the rest, so it had to be split.

Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time - I would love, love to hear from you :)


	21. Chapter 21

Stiles woke feeling more refreshed than he could ever remember having felt before. He was covered in warmth from his head to his feet, and the exhaustion that had seemed a permanent part of him was suddenly gone. At first he didn't move, wanting to hold onto the warmth and safety for as long as he could, but at the sound of shuffling nearby, he finally opened his eyes.

He looked around slowly, wondering why it was so dark. It took him a moment, but he eventually realised that somehow during the night the trees and bushes had bent over him, hovering but not touching, forming what looked like half a cocoon around him.

Stiles stared at the leaves for a moment longer, before he finally looked down towards the rest of the clearing, where Scott and Alayna were sitting round the still-burning fire. A pile of what looked like berries were sat beside them, and Stiles could just make out the low timbre of Scott's voice as he spoke.

After watching them for a few moments, Stiles finally moved and got to his feet, making his way over to the fire. Both Scott and Alayna looked up at him as he arrived, dark bags of stress and exhaustion beneath both their eyes, but small smiles nonetheless pulling at their lips.

"Hey," Scott greeted as Stiles sat down beside them.

"Hey," Stiles replied.

"How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, actually." Stiles blinked, feeling more and more strength return to him with nearly every passing moment. "Actually, very good. How 'bout you?"

"I'd like to sleep for another day, but other than that, I think I'm good too. Alayna's still pretty tired, though."

If Alayna's sharp look of disapproval was anything to go by, it was clear that she hadn't intended for Stiles to know that. With a slightly-frustrated sigh, she turned to Stiles. "I'm fine," she said, though it was clear from her voice and posture that she was wasn't. "Seriously, there's nothing wrong with me aside from needing a few days rest. It's nothing that sleep won't fix."

Stiles opened his mouth, about to argue with her, but Alayna quickly cut him off: "You can dispute me all you like, Stiles, but none of that matters anyway at the moment. Right now we need to focus on getting back to Beacon Hills and out of these mountains." The 'for good' part wasn't spoken, but was heard by all. Stiles honestly couldn't wait; he didn't want to see another rugged mountain peak for a very, very long time.

After a few minutes of silence, Scott finally asked, "So how are we going to get back? Are we gonna walk all the way, or can we, you know… like Ran Gore…?"

Stiles knew what Scott was asking, but he didn't know what to say in response. He honestly had no idea how to get back; he'd moved through the water like Ran Gore had, sure, but that had been in the heat of fighting – he had no idea how he'd done it, or if he could even do it again. Maybe it was only because Ran Gore was there that it had worked at all.

After a few minutes of silence, Alayna spoke: "I can bring us back. There are many ways to move through the world, water and the elements are only one. I still have some strength left in me, I can –."

"Alayna, no," Stiles interjected. "You just – you're _exhausted_ ; you can't just take us all the way back to Beacon Hills, and –."

"Yes, I can," Alayna interrupted. "I still have some power left, enough to get us to Beacon Hills safely. We need only to walk to the nearest valley and I'll have enough space to move us all together." Stiles gave her a hard stare, but Alayna simply frowned at him in return. "It is either that, or we walk all the way out of the mountains and to the nearest town on foot. It will only take us a week or more, and we of course won't run into any difficulties along the way – the wilderness holds none of those. But the choice Stiles, of course, is yours."

Stiles stayed silent for a moment longer, before he finally gave a loud huff of frustration and turned away. "Fine," he said. "Let's find the nearest clearing and get out of here."

They walked for over half an hour before they finally broke the treeline and began making their way down into the valley. Once they'd reached the bottom, Alayna gathered them into a small circle and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she grasped both Stiles and Scott's hands and held them tightly in her own.

Stiles wasn't sure what he'd expected. Perhaps he'd thought a wave of water would rush around them and carry they back to Beacon Hills, or they'd be engulfed in a tidal wave or the roar of a river as Ran Gore had preferred. Instead, though, he felt something entirely different. It was a pull, a tug against centremost part of his body, feeling almost as though it were expanding within him. It wasn't a bad feeling, but before he could really focus on it further, the mountains and trees and sun began to suddenly grow brighter and brighter until they were blinding, and on instinct Stiles was forced to shut his eyes.

The white noise in his ears grew deafening, and for a moment Stiles could feel nothing except the beating of his own heart. Then as quickly as it began, the light behind Stiles' eyes faded and he was able to open them once more. When he did, he saw that the trees and mountains of the Rockies were gone, replaced instead with the buildings and roads of Beacon Hills.

Stiles blinked, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden change. He looked around, searching, looking at everything and anything. A few seconds passed, and it took him another moment to realise what was wrong.

Nothing.

There was nothing wrong, and that was what was surprising him. After what he'd seen during his fight with Ran Gore, of all the people laying unconscious on the ground and in their houses, of the hundreds of people whose souls had been stolen from their bodies and were going to perish into Gore's own, he had been expecting to see them still there, still dying, or dead. But they weren't there. The streets were empty, save for cars parked along the side of the road and in people's driveways. The scene looked like the millions of others that Stiles had seen throughout his life in the small town, appearing as though nothing had ever happened, as though nothing were amiss.

"Come on," Scott said quietly, starting to make his way across the road and towards the sidewalk. "We should go to the hospital. It's the closest, and my mom will probably be there."

Stiles blinked once, then quickly made his way after Scott. "I have to find my dad," he said absently as they began walking towards the hospital. Images of his father struggling to lift an unconscious man into his car while trying to stay awake himself flashed through Stiles' mind, and his heart began to beat faster as the urgency to see his dad grew greater.

"We'll find him," Scott reassured. "He's most likely at the hospital, too."

As they walked, another thought went through Stiles' mind. "The girls," he said. "And Liam. We should – we need to figure out where they are, if they're okay –."

Scott slowed, biting his lower lip for a moment as he stared into the distance, before his teeth set firmly in his jaw. "First my mom, then your dad, and then Liam and the girls. They're with Daniel and Jacob, and they all can defend themselves. They'll be fine."

Stiles felt someone brush up beside him and he looked down to see Alayna's tired eyes peering into his own. She gave him a weak smile. "Scott is right, Stiles," she said softly. "They are in good hands. They will make it back to Beacon Hills safely."

Scott began moving again and with a deep breath, Stiles followed.

When they arrived at the hospital, Stiles was surprised to see just how much activity was going on outside the building. Cars, trucks, jeeps – _people_. They were all moving in every direction, some leaving, some arriving; but what struck Stiles the most was how calm everyone was. How normal everyone was. How normal _everything_ was. After all that had happened, he had expected to see the worst – people dead, people dying, people confused and wondering what the heck was going on. But this….

They made their way through the hospital doors and up to the third wing where Melissa worked. When they stepped out of the elevator they were greeted with the sight of a near empty hallway, save for the few nurses and doctors making their way in and out of rooms. Everything was orderly, everything was calm, everything was normal. But how –

" _SCOTT!_ "

Stiles felt a familiar presence wash over him and before he had time to move, Scott was being shoved against him as his mother flung her arms around him in a massive hug.

He waited for a few minutes as Melissa ran her hands over Scott's face and shoulders, making sure he was okay, before her head swung to Stiles. She immediately wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight in what Stiles knew was long awaited relief. Finally she let him go and pulled back, her eyes wide but sharp. "Are you boys okay?" she asked, her gaze flickering rapidly between them, searching their faces for the barest hint of a lie.

"We're fine, Mom," Scott said, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. For once, though, it was true. At least for the most part.

"What happened? Where did you go? Who were you fighting, and how did –."

"I'll tell you everything later, Mom, I promise," Scott quickly interrupted. "But first – what happened here? When we left, people were getting sick, and –."

Melissa took a deep breath, steadying herself. "It was bad, Scott. It doesn't seem like it now, but twenty-four hours ago I seriously thought that it was the end. There was no one – the hospital was bursting at the seams, everyone was unconscious or nearly there; we couldn't figure it out. We couldn't figure out what was going on, and then the staff started falling sick too, and when I called John at the station I couldn't get a hold of him, I couldn't get a hold of _anyone_. I ran outside but it was the exact same thing – everyone was unconscious, or barely awake. I managed to get back to the desk and call the next hospital in the town over, but I couldn't dial the phone. It was like – it was like –."

Melissa fell silent, and Scott made to reach for her, but she stepped back and shook her head. After a few moments she took a deep breath and continued: "When I woke up, everyone was moving again. The staff was checking everyone, making sure they were okay, but they couldn't find anything wrong. It were as though everyone had just decided to get sick all at once, and all at once they got better again."

She caught Scott's eye, then Stiles', looking between them. "They're calling it a pandemic. They're still trying to figure out what exactly caused it, but for now they're just telling everyone to go back to their homes and back to work. They want to keep everyone calm, so they're acting like nothing ever happened."

Stiles looked away as Melissa fell into silence. _Well_ , he thought, _it's much better if they think it was just some sickness, than figure out what actually happened._ His gaze turned back to Melissa, who was once more checking over Scott. His eyes fell closed as he took a breath. _At least everyone's alive. They're actually alive._

"Scott?"

Stiles' eyes opened back up at the sound of Melissa's voice and he looked at her briefly, catching her gaze which fell just past Scott and Stiles' shoulders. Stiles turned, his eyes landing on Alayna, whose pale face and vacant eyes made it look as though she were almost ready to collapse.

"Mom," Scott said, stepping to the side, "this is Alayna."

At the sound of her name Alayna looked up, her eyes wandering for a few moments before they landed on the older woman before her. She quickly offered up a weak smile. "Hello," she said quietly.

"Alayna helped us get out of the mountains," Scott explained lightly, obviously trying to avoid having to explain exactly who Alayna was and what she had done. But Melissa had known her son for far too long, and with a questioning raise of her eyebrow, Scott quickly said, "I'll explain it all later. Right now though…" Scott ran a hand tiredly over his face. "Right now we just need to make sure everything's all right, and maybe find a place to crash… yeah, a place to crash would be good right now."

Three years ago, Melissa would have demanded that Scott and Stiles tell her everything that was going on, and that they tell her right now. She certainly wouldn't have let some random girl showing up out of nowhere go unexplained. But it wasn't three years ago, and Melissa had learned – however unwantingly – that she would have to trust her son, more times over than she would perhaps ever like, and now was no exception.

She stared at Alayna a moment longer, then took a deep breath. "Okay," she said at last. "Go home. There should be food in the fridge, and if not, well… you know where the money is. I'll be home in a few hours."

As Scott made to move, Stiles' thoughts quickly turned back to his father. "Melissa?" he asked. Melissa turned to him, and he continued: "I need to use your phone. I – I lost mine, and I need to call my dad. I… I need to call my dad." He could see Ran Gore's hand digging into his father's chest, could see his soul being ripped from his body, being sucked into Gore's emerald necklace….

Stiles suddenly felt something being pressed into his hands and he blinked, looking down to see Melissa's cell phone. He looked up, and Melissa gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Here," she said quietly. "I haven't called your dad yet, Stiles, but I'm sure he's fine. Like everyone else, I'm sure he's just fine."

At Melissa's words, Stiles felt a bit of himself begin to break, the hard walls he'd built to get him through the fight with Ran Gore and everything that happened afterwards, slowly beginning to crumble. His fingers curled over the phone, squeezing it tight before turning it on and rapidly tapping in his dad's phone number.

He stepped away, pressing the phone to his ear, listening as the call connected and waiting the torturous seconds as each ring rose and fell.

As fifteen seconds, then thirty, then forty passed, it became evident that his dad wasn't going to pick up. Finally the final ring sounded, followed by the click and steely-toned voice of the voicemail, asking him to please leave a message after the beep. When the phone beeped, Stiles took a shaky breath. "Dad? Dad, it's me, it's Stiles – I… I just wanted to call to let you know I'm okay, and, um… I was just wanting to make sure that you're okay too. So uh, if you could, um… if you could call me back, that would, I mean…." Stiles ran a hand over his face, realising that he was using Melissa's cell and not his own. He took another shaky breath. "I just want to make sure you're okay, and –."

The phone suddenly beeped, alerting him that the maximum length for the message had been reached, and the call was now ended. Stiles brought the phone back down, running his thumb once across the screen before handing it back to Melissa. Seeing his face, the mother gave him a sad smile, reaching up and placing her hand against his cheek. "You'll find him, don't worry. He's here somewhere. He's probably just out doing his job – you know how he is."

And Stiles did. He knew only too well that his dad was most likely busy making sure everyone was okay, that no one was hurt, that everything was indeed back to normal. He wouldn't come home until he was sure that everything was okay.

Except right now, Stiles needed to make sure that _he_ was okay.

The PA sounded and a monotone voice came over the speaker, telling certain doctors to go to certain rooms and for nurses to go elsewhere. Stiles felt Scott shift beside him before speaking. "Come on Stiles," he said. "Let's go home."

Home. What was that again?

After saying their goodbyes, Scott, Stiles, and Alayna left the hospital and headed towards Stiles' house.

* * *

As they neared his house, Stiles could feel his heart begin to beat faster, hoping that as his driveway came into view, he would see his dad's cruiser sitting in front of the garage and the living room lights turned on. As they turned the corner, however, all that greeted him was the empty pavement. Stiles faltered for a moment, fear spiking through his veins, before he started walking forwards once more. Grabbing the spare key from its hiding spot near the window, Stiles opened the door and walked inside.

It was evident from the first step that no one was home; the house was completely still and utterly silent, shrouded in darkness and shadows. Flicking on the lights, Stiles took a look around.

Everything was as he had left it; nothing was out of place, not even the old Tupperware that was strewn across the kitchen counter, dirtied and some still filled with food. Everything looked completely normal.

Except it wasn't.

"He hasn't been here for a while," Scott said quietly, stepping further into the room and taking a few deep breaths. "Twelve hours, at least, I'd say."

It took a moment for Scott's words to sink in, and Scott himself probably wasn't even aware of the significance of what he'd just said. But once it hit him, Stiles couldn't let it go.

"So you're saying he was here?" he asked, spinning around, his eyes wide. "Twelve hours ago, he was here? In this house? In this room?"

Scott frowned, wondering what Stiles was talking about, when suddenly realisation dawned. "Yeah," he said, more firmly this time. "Yeah, he was here. He was definitely here, and he was alive."

"Do you… can you smell blood, or anything, or –."

"No. No, I can't smell anything like that at all. As far as I can tell, he was fine. He _is_ fine."

A weight that he hadn't realised was pressing on his chest suddenly lifted, and Stiles found himself rapidly sucking in a deep breath. He could feel the blood rushing towards his head, and he quickly sat down on the nearest chair before he could fall.

He was alive. His dad was alive. He was okay.

 _He was alive._

Scott and Alayna sat down beside him. They sat together for over an hour, until Scott left to go back to his own home and meet up with his mom, just for a bit, to make sure she was okay and to explain all that had happened.

Stiles felt a hand brush his, and he looked back to see Alayna smiling tiredly up at him from where she sat. She said nothing, choosing instead to simply brush her fingers along Stiles' wrist, reassuring him that he wasn't alone and that for once, all was safe. Stiles gave her a small smile and gave her hand a quick squeeze with his own fingers. "You should go upstairs," he said. "There's a spare room you can use. You look like you're ready to fall over."

And she did; it was a testament to just how exhausted she was that Alayna didn't put up a fight, and instead with a small nod, allowed Stiles to help her up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. As soon as she laid down on the bed her body seemed to suddenly give out, and without warning she was completely asleep. Stiles took a few moments to pull the covers down and lay them over top of her, before turning off the lights and shutting the door behind him. He resumed his seat by the table, his eyes staring off into the distance as he waited for his father to come home.

The light of day turned to dusk, and it wasn't until dusk had just about turned to night that Stiles finally heard the rumble of a familiar engine drive down the road. A few moments later the lights of a car poured through the window, before turning away and coming to a halt. Seconds later the engine stopped, and Stiles listened as the car's door opened and closed, followed soon after by the turning of a key in the lock.

The first thing he noticed was how tired his dad looked. Even in the light of the dimming sun and rising moon, it was clear that his dad was utterly exhausted to the bone. The second thing Stiles noticed was the dark bruise rising from the skin above John's disheveled and open shirt, disappearing below the fabric, where it most likely covered the rest of his chest. Stiles knew immediately what it was from – having someone dig their hands into your body and rip out your soul didn't come without consequences. Guilt stabbed at Stiles' chest, but before he could think any more about it, his dad looked up and their eyes finally met.

John's first reaction came from years of instinct in law enforcement, his body jerking and his hand immediately going to the gun held on his side at the unexpected presence in the room. His second reaction, however, came from all his years as a father, as his hands immediately fell from his holster and reached for his son.

At first he could only stare, neither of them saying a word, both simply taking in each other's presence. Then finally, with a small stumble, John surged forward and grabbed Stiles into his arms. He said his son's name over and over again as Stiles reached around and returned his father's hug, squeezing him just as tight, holding him just as close, as he finally knew for sure that his father was safe.

After what felt like an age, they finally pulled apart, both taking a good look at the other, reassuring themselves that they really were okay. John was the first to finally speak. "Stiles," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Stiles, what… what happened? Where did you go, who were you fighting, what –."

"I'll explain everything, Dad," Stiles interrupted. "I promise. I'll tell you everything. But first I need… I need to tell you something else." Stiles took a breath, knowing if he didn't say it now, he might not ever get the courage again. "When… when I left, I… I did something –."

John frowned, searching his son for a few moments before he blinked in understanding, almost as though he'd forgotten all about the flame that had appeared in his son's hand before he'd run out of the house all those weeks ago. With all that had happened since then, Stiles supposed that he had.

John pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes never leaving Stiles'. Following his lead, Stiles sat back down in his own chair, taking a deep and heavy breath, waiting a long moment before he finally spoke. It wasn't the first time he'd told this story now, but it still seemed just as hard to put the words together and get them out of his mouth as the first time. "When I… when I was taken by Givens, I found out that I… that I could do things. I could… I could control the air, and later the earth, and then fire and now… and now water. They say that I'm a… an Elemental."

Stiles looked up at his father, gauging his reaction. John stared at him for a long moment, his expression indecipherable. Finally he leaned back and ran a hand over his face. "Stiles," he said, almost like he was hearing that Stiles had been goofing around and had fallen into the creek again, rather than just having heard that his son had what was essentially magic. He opened his eyes and looked at his son. "If you'd told me this four years ago, I'd have had you sent for a psych exam. But now…." John shook his head again, then raised his eyebrow. "So you've just been keeping this little secret to yourself for the past seven months?"

The conversation felt so normal, so like the ones that they always had growing up, whenever Stiles would finally admit to something that he'd been keeping secret from his dad. It was throwing him off – he wasn't exactly sure where to go next. He'd expected hurt, betrayal, _anger_ –

"Stiles?"

Stiles looked up, catching his dad's worried gaze. Swallowing, Stiles knew exactly what he had do say next. "Dad, Dad there's something else I have to tell you. Something important."

The slight ease that had fallen across John's face quickly disappeared. "What is it?" he asked. "Are you sure it's bigger than the fact that my son can apparently now control fire and air?" Stiles was quiet for a long moment, and John's lips turned into a frown. "Stiles?" he prompted.

Stiles took a breath. "Apparently there are these… there are these stories, or – or something. They say that there is someone who will defeat this… this thing, or whatever. Some _'darkness'_. They say that this person will be powerful. Very powerful. They call this person the _Blessed_."

John's frown deepened and he shook his head in confusion. "So… what? Are you telling me that you think this person is one of your friends? Is it Scott?"

He could get out of this now, he could tell his dad that he didn't know who this person was, that this prophecy was as far away from them as the earth was from the moon. But he couldn't lie to his dad. Not now. Not any more.

"No, Dad, it's not… it's not Scott, or Lydia, or Malia, or Liam, it's… it's _me_."

The room fell into silence for a long moment, neither man saying a single word as Stiles waited for his dad's response. Eventually he looked up, his eyes meeting his father's incredulous stare. Finally John spoke: "I don't… I don't understand. You're telling me that there are these stories about some powerful guy that's supposed to show up to defeat something dark, and that… that _you're_ him? Am I getting that right?"

"Well they're not so much stories, as they are… prophecies."

"Prophecies."

"Yeah."

There was another long, heavy moment, before John finally leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh, running his hand over his face. "Okay Stiles," he said tiredly. "Tell me everything, from the beginning. And don't leave a single thing out."

* * *

Well over an hour later, Stiles finally fell into silence. He had watched his dad as he spoke, taking in every little reaction he gave, every movement of his lips and every twitch of his brow. John would cut Stiles off every few minutes, asking him questions, wanting to know more about what had happened with Givens, with Ran Gore, about what he could do as an Elemental and just what the heck a _Blessed_ really was. After being forced to explain everything, Stiles was able to realise just how little he really knew himself about everything that had happened, and everything that he was. But at the moment, that wasn't what Stiles cared about.

All in all, John took it all surprisingly well. Stiles supposed that living the past three years surrounded by werewolves and the supernatural would make the knowledge that your own son had magic a little more easy to swallow. Overall, everything had gone really well.

Well, except when he mentioned Alayna.

"Say that again?" John asked, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

Stiles shrunk slightly back, recognising the danger in his father's tone. He had to admit, after everything that had happened, he hadn't expected to feel the familiar teenage-guilt at the end of the day.

"Uh, I said… I said that there's a girl upstairs in the guestroom."

John opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles quickly cut him off. "Her name is Alayna; she's the one I told you about – the one in the mirror, the one who helped me figure out what I could do and who helped us kill Ran Gore. We got her out of the mirror, she helped us get back to Beacon Hills. She has no where to go, Dad; she's my responsibility now. She just got back to our world, and I… I have to help her."

John stared at Stiles for only a moment, before shaking his head with a sigh. Stiles thought he would make some quip, would say something like "only you", but instead he merely pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. "Of course she's welcome here, Stiles, but I'll have to meet her properly in the morning; it's late. You look ready to fall off your feet; you need to go to bed. Get something to eat, first – I'm sure you've barely eaten throughout this whole… thing. But then you're heading straight to bed."

"I can't, Dad, not yet. Scott's talking with his mom, but afterwards he's going to come back, and –."

"No he's not, Stiles," John firmly interrupted. "He's going to stay home and go to bed, too. I'll call Melissa and tell her that you'll see him in the morning."

"But Dad –."

"No 'buts', Stiles, I mean it. You're dead on your feet and if you don't go to bed now, I'll put you there myself."

Stiles opened his mouth, wanting to keep arguing, to insist that he needed to talk to Scott, that they still needed to figure out where Liam and the girls were, if they were safe, and when they'd get back. They needed to know what they were going to do with Alayna and if they should go around town and check to see if everyone was really okay, and –

Stiles felt his father's hands come down on his shoulders and he blinked, realising that he must have started talking and stopped halfway through, his eyes staring blankly into the distance. He let his dad lead him up the stairs and into his room, absently taking off his torn and dirtied clothes and pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms before crawling beneath the covers of his bed. It felt inextricably weird to be laying on an actual mattress, a modern one, with soft blankets and pillows both over and beneath him. After sleeping on the ground for so long, he almost felt as though he were going to fall through the bed.

A hand lightly touched the side of his face, moving down his shoulder affectionately before tucking the blankets in beside him. "Goodnight, Stiles," his dad's voice said from somewhere above him. "I'll see you in the morning."

And Stiles knew no more.

* * *

When Stiles opened his eyes, he wasn't sure at first where he was. It took him a moment to realise that he was in his room, his room back in Beacon Hills, and that the reason he couldn't hear anything going on was because everything was silent.

Silence. How could something so normal have become so foreign?

Closing his eyes, Stiles turned back onto his bed, taking in a deep breath as he allowed himself one last moment of rest.

A short while later the quiet was broken as Stiles began to hear the sounds of voices in the distance. He recognised his father's deep voice permeating through the floor, but it took him a moment to realise that he soft, higher voice was coming from Alayna.

Alayna. That's right; she was here now, with him in the real world, alive and safe. And the others, they were still out there, and –

A sharp rapping suddenly sounded from the window, and Stiles' head snapped up to see Scott standing outside on the rooftop, his mouth turned in soft, lopsided grin.

Stiles frowned at him, confused. Now why did this feel so familiar?

With a groan, Stiles got out of bed and made his way to the window, unlatching the lock and sliding it open.

Scott swung into the bedroom, his smile widening as he met Stiles' eyes. "Hey," he greeted.

Stiles gave him a tired but wary look. "Hey," he said back, eyeing his friend carefully. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be under house arrest. My dad said he was going to call your mom, and –."

"He did, and I sort of am, but I mean, it's already two-thirty in the afternoon and Mom's gone back to the hospital, so I gave myself an early release."

Stiles frowned then glanced at his bedside clock, blinking for a moment in surprise as he realised that it was indeed the middle of the afternoon.

"Oh," he said dumbly. "I didn't think…." He shook his head slightly, then looked back up at Scott. "So did you tell your mom?" he asked.

Scott nodded. "Yeah."

"How did she take it?"

"She said she wanted to smack us both over our heads for not telling her everything from the start, but that she was just glad we were both okay." Scott paused, then asked, "Did you talk to your dad?"

"Yeah. He took it surprisingly well, though I'm sure after a few days he'll want to talk about it again. And again. And again."

"And he knows about Alayna?"

Stiles huffed, giving Scott a look. "Of course. I wasn't going to bed without telling him there was someone else in the house. He would've killed me; after first interrogating her, of course." Stiles groaned, running his hands tiredly over his face. "I should probably head down there," he said, slowly getting back to his feet, the mattress dipping beneath him as he stood. "I have to make sure they're both okay, and –."

"Stiles, wait," Scott interrupted. "I have to tell you something first."

Stiles' brows furrowed together in a frown. "What is it?"

The smile that had been pulling at Scott's lips finally broke through, stretching across his face into a grin. "I talked to Lydia. They made it to a town on the border of Colorado and they managed to get a car. They're going to drive through the day and night, and hopefully they'll be here by tomorrow morning. She said they're fine, that they're all fine. Malia said there were a few things that happened, but considering it's Malia, I wouldn't be so sure that they were seri –."

"You talked to them?" Stiles interrupted, his voice filled with disbelief. "You mean they're actually okay, and… and –."

"Yeah," Scott repeated. "Yeah, they're all okay, and they'll be back home by tomorrow morning."

Stiles found himself falling back onto the bed as his legs suddenly grew weak. He closed his eyes.

They were okay. Lydia, Malia, and Liam – they were all okay. They had survived, and they were alive, and they were okay. They had made it – they had actually made it.

It was finally over.

Without warning, Stiles suddenly found himself laughing. He felt the bed dip beside him and he opened his eyes to see Scott with his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair before looking up at Stiles with a smile and laughter of his own.

After a few moments their laughter died away, and Stiles let out a heavy sigh as he fell onto his back. "Well," he said. "I guess all we have to worry about now is re-doing senior year. I don't think there's a box called "Spending a Month Trying to Kill a Hundred Year Old Psycho" to check off as an excuse for missing school."

Scott leaned back on his hands beside Stiles. "Actually, we may have lucked out. Mom said that because of the 'pandemic', the last two weeks of school were cancelled. They're going to run classes into July, so we might actually have a chance at graduating this year, with the rest of our class."

Stiles raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Seriously?" he asked, sitting up on his elbows. He was silent for a moment, taking the information in, before letting out a disbelieving huff. "Great. I survived the mountains just to get killed by Coach at school. I had over a month to write a three-day Econ. Paper, and I didn't write a single word. I doubt he'll believe me if I said I was busy saving his life."

"If it's any consolation, Coach wouldn't believe you no matter what you said."

"That's true."

Eventually Stiles and Scott made their way downstairs where John and Alayna were sitting at the table, eating a late lunch. John expressed no surprise at Scott's presence and instead simply told them both to sit down and eat, which they readily did. They spent the rest of the day inside, drifting between the couch and the table and late afternoon naps.

* * *

Stiles awoke the next morning to the sudden sensation that something was near by, and getting closer and closer with each passing second. He quickly got up and out of bed, almost tripping over himself as he ran to the window, pressing his fingers against the pane as he peered out into the morning dawn.

After a few minutes a grey car appeared around the corner, driving down the barren road until at last it came to a stop outside Stiles' house. Stiles didn't need to see inside to know who it was – he could already feel their feet stepping out onto the ground and their breaths breathing in the morning air.

Stiles ran out of his room, thumping loudly down the stairs and throwing the front door open just in time to see the sun's light reflecting off the familiar shades of blonde, brown, and strawberry-blonde hair as they came out of the car.

For a moment, they all simply stared at each other. Then, before Stiles knew what was happening, he was being bombarded with arms and hugs, as Malia all but wrapped herself around him, squeezing him as hard as she could. Stiles hugged her back, holding onto her just as hard, taking in the fact that she was here, that she was alive, that she was safe.

A moment later Liam was at his side and Stiles let go of Malia to give the younger werewolf a hug as well, grabbing his arm and thumping his back a few times, as relief coursed through his body that the youngest member of their pack was safe.

Malia immediately started bombarding him with questions, asking if he was okay, if Scott was okay, asking how they'd made it out of the mountains and how they'd managed to finally kill Ran Gore. Stiles opened his mouth, attempting to answer the questions as quickly as he could, when he suddenly caught a pair of familiar blue eyes staring back at him.

Malia grew quiet as Stiles fell silent, and a moment later Stiles pulled away.

He came to a stop a few feet in front of Lydia. The two stared at each other for a long moment, neither saying a word. Stiles wondered what to say, how he should defend himself, how he should explain to her all and everything that had happened. He tried to gauge her expression, trying to tell if she was angry or upset or furious, but all he could see was her silent eyes staring back at him and her lips pressed tightly together in a firm line.

Stiles was prepared for her to yell at him, for her to chastise him, for her to continue the fight they'd had back in the train. What he wasn't prepared for was her eyes filling with tears and her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him into a hug. Stiles was stunned for a moment, before he quickly wrapped his arms around her in return.

After a few minutes, Lydia finally pulled away, her eyes tinged with red but the tears now gone. "I'm so glad you're okay, Stiles," she said. "When you jumped from the train, I nearly… I nearly…." She closed her eyes, swallowed, then looked back up. "I'm still upset, I won't pretend that I'm not. But I… I've realised…." She took another breath, steadying herself. "I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I just… I forgot what it was like, when my own powers started to show up. I felt so afraid, so alone, I didn't want to tell anyone…." She paused for a moment, looking away before catching Stiles' eye one last time. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry."

Stiles could hear movement behind him and voices shout out as someone else – _Scott_ – approached, but he ignored them as the burden of anger, fear, and guilt that he had held for so long finally begin to fade away. Staring at Lydia for a moment longer, he quietly said, "Thank you." A few seconds later the front doors of the car opened and the two werewolves – Jacob and Daniel – stepped out.

"Hey," Daniel said, giving Stiles a tight-lipped smile as he held out his hand.

Stiles quickly shook it and gave a smile in return. "Hey. Thanks for bringing them back here, and for taking care of them. You have no idea how much we –."

Daniel quickly waved his hand, shaking his head. "Don't. You make it sound as though we'd have left them on their own if we could've. Besides, we got an impromptu tour of the rest of the state. I have to admit, having lived where we have for so long, it's rather easy to forget that there's a world that exists outside the mountains."

Stiles grinned and a moment later Scott came up beside them, and they all gave a run-down of what had happened after they parted. When they got to the part about Darius, both Daniel and Jacob were left stunned.

"What?" Jacob asked, his brows nearly disappearing beneath his hair. "But I – I thought he was dead! In the mountain, he went after Jacobson, and he – he – he died!"

Daniel looked just as stunned at the news that their pack alpha hadn't been killed, as they had thought.

After a few more minutes of talking, Stiles could see movement from inside his house and figured it'd be best to go inside. When he asked Daniel and Jacob to join them, however, they quickly shook their heads. "No," Daniel said. "We have to get back to Colorado. If what you're saying is true, if Darius is indeed still alive, then we have to find him. He's the last of our pack – he's our alpha, our leader. We have to find him."

Stiles wanted to argue, but he knew it was futile. In the end, all he could do was thank them – for saving him and Scott back in the blizzard, for helping them fight Ran Gore, for saving and taking care of their friends. For everything.

After they all finished saying their goodbyes, Daniel and Jacob got back in their car and drove down the road, disappearing into the distance. Stiles watched them go for a long moment, before he felt Malia's hand tug at his arm, pulling him back inside the house.

* * *

Two weeks later, beyond what even Stiles could have imagined, he was sitting in his desk in Coach's Econ class, hastily writing down as many notes as he could as Coach lectured at the front. He usually wouldn't pay so much attention, he preferred learning through the textbook on his own time than from lectures, but he found that putting all his focus on one thing made it easier not to focus on anything else; and at the moment there were plenty of things he'd prefer to forget.

The bell rang, startling Stiles out of his demeanour, and he quickly shoved his books into his bag and exited the class. Econ was the last class of the day, and Stiles soon found himself making his way beside Scott, Lydia, and Malia as they headed to the parking lot; it felt just like old times, as though it were just another end of the day at school. And the crazy thing was, it _was_.

"So, Stiles," Lydia said as she drew up beside him. "Have you decided what you're doing in the fall? It's probably the latest it can be to apply for college, but I'm sure they'll still accept you, especially with your grades and considering all that's happened with the… _pandemic_."

Stiles took a breath. He _had_ been thinking about it, actually. He'd been thinking about it a lot. With graduation soon upon them, he only had a short time to finally make up his mind.

Would he take a year off, like he'd initially wanted, or would he go to college, instead? He'd had some ideas of what he wanted to do, what careers he thought he'd might like to pursue. Ever since he was a kid, he'd wanted to go into law enforcement, like his dad. He had a mind for puzzles and mysteries, and he'd always loved trying to solve them. He'd hadn't been the brains of their pack for the last three years for nothing, after all. But throughout those three years, he'd realised something: solving puzzles and games were one thing, but saving people's lives was another; and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to reconcile the two together. At least not as legally as law enforcement would like. Though he still had some time left to figure _that_ out, at least.

"I've applied to the same school as Scott," Stiles said. "We're gonna get an apartment together, hopefully somewhere off campus but still nearby. I'll take general studies for the first semester, then after that… after that, I guess we'll see what happens."

"Well, at least you're going to college, I guess," Lydia replied. "Though I think you should start figuring out what you really want to do. College is important, but expensive."

Stiles rolled his eyes but gave a good-natured smile. Typical Lydia.

But really, Stiles thought as they neared his jeep, he didn't think it would matter what degree or career he chose. If college was anything like high school had been, he doubted he'd be spending much time in class. He probably wouldn't be doing much of anything related to his studies.

But that was a concern for another time.

He and Scott drove to his house as Lydia and Malia followed behind them in Lydia's car. They were going to drop their things off at Stiles', then head off to an ice-cream shop downtown.

Liam was already at Stiles' house waiting for them, and soon they were all inside the entryway as Stiles went upstairs to drop his bag in his room. When he passed by the guestroom, he saw Alayna sitting on the side of her bed, her back turned to him as she stared out the window. She was still wearing the same dress he had first met her in, albeit it was now clean. Melissa insisted that she would take her shopping soon to get more clothes, but she hadn't had time yet to do it. Alayna hadn't said a thing about it, though, and Stiles had a feeling that she never would.

Stepping a foot into the room, Stiles knocked lightly on the door. "Alayna?"

Alayna turned to him, staring at him for a moment before her lips turned upwards in a small smile. "Stiles," she said. "How are you? How was your day at school?"

"It was good. Did lots of learning, and… and learning-type stuff." He rested his arm against the doorframe, absently tapping his fist against the wood as he gave a small smile. "The guys and I are going for ice-cream – did you want to come? There's a ton of stuff there you could try that I'm sure you probably haven't seen before. You might like it."

Alayna's smile softened at Stiles' words, but she quickly shook her head. "No thank you," she said quietly. "Though I do enjoy ice-cream, I'm afraid I'm just not feeling up to going out, yet. Besides," she nodded towards her book, which sat silently on her bedside table, "I've seen what people put on their ice-cream these days. I'm not entirely sure half of them were meant to be put on it, to be honest."

"That's the point – nowadays, you can put whatever you like on it. Sprinkles, fruit, chocolate sauce."

Alayna raised an eyebrow. "Even ketchup?"

Stiles made a face. "Okay, maybe not _whatever_ you like."

Alayna smiled, almost letting out a laugh. Stiles stood a moment longer, his smile fading away as he stared at the young woman. He knew she was still upset, that she still wasn't over what had happened in the mountains. A part of Stiles wondered if she ever would.

"Go," Alayna said after a moment. "Have fun with your friends – you have certainly earned it."

Stiles gave her one last look, before turning round. "Okay," he said. "I'll see you later, then."

Stiles made his way into his own room, kicking the door shut so he could quickly change into another, cooler shirt.

Stiles grumbled as he searched around his room for a clean shirt, pushing aside piles of dirty clothes that hadn't made it into the laundry basket. "Come on," he muttered to himself. "One of these has to be clean." He could hear everyone downstairs as they talked and chattered amongst themselves, their voices getting louder as they grew more impatient to leave.

Stiles finally found a shirt nearly pushed underneath the bed and he quickly pulled it out, intending to smell it to see if it was satisfactory enough to wear. As he grabbed it, though, the clothes it was tangled it came out too, and Stiles suddenly realised that these were the clothes he'd worn when he was in the mountains, when he'd fought and killed Ran Gore.

Stiles stared at them for a moment, unable to believe that he'd forgotten about them. They had to be, what? Five, six weeks old? Considering everything they'd gone through, they were probably better off thrown in the trash and burn –

Stiles' hand suddenly brushed something along the side of the shirt's pocket, and a course of heat suddenly shot through his arm, pulsating throughout the rest of his body. His movements came to a halt, his body growing completely still.

After a moment he brushed his fingers against the fabric again, feeling another course of heat flutter through his body before he slid his hand inside the pocket and pulled it back out, opening his palm in front of him.

The emerald shard that he had picked up back in the mountain sat in front of him, its colour dull and edges scuffed as it reflected dully in the light. Stiles stared at it, unable to tear his eyes away.

He had… he had completely forgotten about it. Somehow, through everything that had happened – escaping the mountain, jumping off the train, fighting Ran Gore – it had still somehow stayed in his pocket. After all this time, it was still there….

After a moment the shard began to grow warm against his skin, and Stiles found himself closing his eyes as he took a long, deep breath. He opened his eyes back up, blinking a few times as he felt his fingers clench into fists, his muscles tightening beneath his skin.

Another feeling of warmth echoed through Stiles' skin and he closed his eyes once more, taking another breath, his hand drawing against his chest. Everything in him was growing warm, growing strong; he could even swear his eyes were beginning to get ho –

 _"_ _STILES!"_

Stiles' eyes snapped open and he jerked, blinking rapidly as Malia's voice sounded again. _"STILES, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE OR WE'RE LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!"_

Stiles blinked a few more times, suddenly feeling out of breath. He opened his hand and looked at the emerald shard nestled within it, as small and worn as it had been before. Stiles stared at it a moment longer, before he placed it back in the shirt's pocket and stuffed it back under his bed. He quickly rose to his feet, looking quickly around for another shirt to grab. He could hear Scott's voice say something, then a second later both Malia, Lydia, and Liam's voices were shouting in unison. Malia's voice could easily be heard above the rest: _"WHAT?! How could you not_ tell _us that you can shift to a full-wolf?!"_

Stiles threw open his door before shutting it tightly behind him and making his way towards the stairs, unable to stop the smile that spread across his face as he listened to his friends yell at Scott.

Though nothing had really changed, everything was now different. After all that had happened in the mountains – escaping Ran Gore, being chased through a blizzard, finding an entire pack of men, women, and children dead, fighting Ran Gore to his death – Stiles wasn't sure he could ever be the same. He still didn't really know what he was going to do with his life, whether he'd simply accept the destiny this prophecy had apparently given him, or whether he'd continue on the path he had always thought he'd have for himself. He still didn't know what it meant to be a _Blessed_ , or even an Elemental. He'd barely used his powers at all since he'd gotten back, he didn't have a clue what all he could do with now _four_ different elements at his fingertips; and with regards to the connection he had with Scott, he was completely in the dark. Though so much had happened, he still didn't really know anything at all.

"Stiles, come on," Lydia said as Stiles reached the last step. "Let's go before the heat melts the ice-cream before we get there."

Everyone headed out the door, talking about which kind of dessert they'd get and what all they'd put on it. As the last of them left, Stiles caught Scott's eye, who gave him a quick smile before heading out the door himself. Stiles followed after him, closing the door and locking it. He watched as everyone scrambled into the jeep, jockeying for the most comfortable spot.

Maybe he didn't know anything, Stiles thought as he stared. Maybe he didn't have a single clue what was going on, or what would happen in the future. But he wasn't alone, now. It wasn't just him and Scott anymore; it was him, Scott, his dad, Alayna, Lydia, Malia and Liam – he had an entire pack now behind him, people who would stand by him no matter what, who would do everything to help him, even when he didn't know how to help himself.

A small smile tugged at Stiles' lips as he watched Malia and Liam argue like the sister and brother they were, and as Lydia sat beside them with a put-upon frown as she struggled to ignore them. Scott sat in the passenger's seat, giving him a smile as they all waited for him to get in.

And with a small smile of his own, Stiles went.

* * *

A/N:

To everyone who read, followed, and favourited this story - I can't thank you enough. To those who reviewed once, twice, and so many times again - your encouragement and support is how we made it here to the end! This was definitely a harder fic to write than the first, and I never, EVER would have made it here without you guys - you all are so absolutely awesome, and I thank you so, so much.

To everyone who've been here from the beginning with _The Blessed Unknown_ \- holy crap, you guys are amazing. Thank you so much for reading my works and following along in this little 'verse that's come about. I've had SO much fun writing it, you've no idea. Thank you all for being part of my creative outlet :)

In terms of a sequel, I've obviously left it open for one to be written, but at the moment there are no concrete plans for one. I have ideas, of course, and I doubt I'll be able to leave this 'verse alone, but for the moment it'll just stay as these two fics. I hope to write other Teen Wolf stories in the future, as inspiration hits :)

Thank you all SO much again. I hope you enjoyed this 'verse and this fic. Thank you for enduring the long waits and the countless cliffhangers - you guys are the best readers ever! Thanks again :)


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